Only A Day Yet
by Pompey
Summary: Pippin recovers after the final battle on the field of Cormallen. Part movie-verse, mostly book Ch 9 up
1. Day One, March 25

ONLY A DAY YET  
  
(This chapter is another perspective of the last section of Chapter 10, "The Black Gate Opens" of ROTK. I've tried to avoid quoting Tolkien and just set up the scene for those who haven't read it yet.)  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
*The Fellowship has failed* Pippin thought in horror as he surveyed the affects of Frodo and Sam in the foul hands of Sauron's messenger. He saw again the burning Eye, and recalled the pain and terror of the encounter with the palantir. In an instant he saw the whole of Middle Earth conquered and beaten, held under the reign of the Dark Lord, and despair took hold of him. It was not to be bourn. Better to die quickly and valiantly while he could.  
  
Pippin heard himself wish aloud for Merry to be with him and quickly closed his mouth. The Quest had, if nothing else, taught him it was safer to be silent. There was no point in mourning what could not be. He would face his end bravely, and make Merry proud to honor his memory.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Pippin saw Beregond fall beneath the weight of a great Gorgoroth hill-troll. The fell creatures lunged downward to claim his victim and Pippin realized it would tear out his friend's throat unless he took action.  
  
And so he thrust upward and the flash of red and gold of his sword disappeared into the terrible hide of the troll. Foul blackness gushed forth, drenching both hobbit and man alike. Pippin struggled to withdraw his blade but the troll toppled forward. The sword was stuck deep in the monster's vitals and Pippin refused to relinquish the blade, and so he was turned and pulled along before the troll at last fell. Pippin came to rest beside the fallen Beregond.  
  
His world was black, the sable of Gondor he and Beregond wore, the blood- sodden grass beneath his cheek, the shadow and weight of the troll over his body, his darkening field of vision as the breath was inexorably squeezed from his body. Pippin had no doubt he was dying and he found it was not so terrible. Rather, he welcomed the release for it was a far better end than the one he saw for the world.  
  
As his mind faded from the world, Pippin thought he heard voices calling for the eagles and his memory flitted back to the old stories he had heard at Bilbo's knee, the tales of the great dragon Smaug and the wondrous treasure. Bilbo had escaped certain death and returned victorious. Pippin knew that was not his fate. His tale was told.  
  
*****  
  
Gimli son of Gloin surveyed the aftermath of battle in the dying light of sunset with a growing sense of despondency. The last of the hobbits had yet to be accounted for and the dwarf was having little luck in locating him. Gawaihir the great eagle had brought back Frodo and Sam from Mount Doom, though terrible worse for wear from their ordeal. Merry recovered in Minas Tirith's House of Healing. Of Pippin there was no word.  
  
He had been spotted on the front line before the wave of orcs broke upon them. But soon into the battle he had disappeared from view. Gimli had questioned survivors and was told to seek out Beregond for news; however, Beregond too was unable to be found.  
  
Gimli huffed into his beard. He could see Legolas silhouetted against the aging sun but even the elf eyes of the prince of Mirkwood found this quest a challenge. Bitterly Gimli wondered, not for the first time, the reasoning behind allowing Pippin to enter the battle. The young hobbit was costing him more grey hairs than he cared to acknowledge. Certainly Pippin could be bothersome and an annoyance but not one of the rest of the Fellowship had such a bright spirit or optimistic outlook. To lose that now was unthinkable.  
  
The foul body of a hill troll loomed into Gimli's vision. The creatures were odoriferous in life but in death they were well nigh unbearable. The dwarf wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell but froze in shock. Peeping out from beneath the black-encrusted side was a small foot, its copious curls matted over in filth, but it was undeniably that of a hobbit. Pippin had been found.  
  
With a thunderous cry Gimli bounded forward and found a hidden wealth strength in him as he heaved over the carcass of the hill troll. Beneath he discovered the two missing soldiers of Gondor. Beregond gave a whooping gasp as the terrible weight was removed but Pippin made no sound. He lay facedown, the bright sable and silver of his armor darkened by the duller black blood of the troll. His arms stretched forward, hands clenched as though he had been gripping something. Gimli saw the Westernesse blade still lodged in the troll and pride welled up in him as realized how the hobbit must have held his blade to the very end.  
  
"Young Peregrin," Gimli whispered and gently rolled him over. His body was terribly limp and yielding.  
  
"I know not if the perian lives yet," Beregond gasped out, "but this I know - I owe my life to the him. He slew the beast that would have killed me." So saying, the man pulled himself to his feet. "I will fetch a healer for him."  
  
"Our Pippin has a strong spirit," Gimli replied, "but you are wounded and may harm yourself further."  
  
"Nay," said Beregond. "I have strength enough for this." And he went off before Gimli could voice any more protests, leaving him with the limp form of the hobbit.  
  
"Peregrin," Gimli called again, trying to earn a response. None was forthcoming. Fear gripped Gimli's heart and he tenderly lifted off the stained helm. The edges of the metal had bitten deep into Pippin's cheek and nose and the blood had trickled forth. The skin beneath the grime of battle was cool and pale.  
  
Gimli gathered up the crumpled body and bent his head closer, straining to catch a hint of breath, a thump of his heart. Pippin remained still. Again Gimli strained to catch any sign he may have missed, holding his axe blade delicately against his nose and mouth. No mist indicating life appeared. Pippin was dead.  
  
Legolas jerked at the sound echoing through the field. Not since the mines of Moria had he heard the anguished cry of a grieving dwarf. It could mean only one thing. Legolas hurried toward the source of the sound.  
  
He found his friend cradling a small form covered in the black blood of a troll, his face hooded by his cloak. "Gimli, he is not - "  
  
"He is dead," Gimli moaned. "He fought valiantly and slew one of the hill- trolls unaided but could not live. We were too late. Ah, my brave lad, this is not the end befitting a hero of your caliber! You were far too young for battle."  
  
Legolas knelt next to him and laid a hand against Pippin's cheek. Chilly was the skin and yet it was not the coldness of one long dead. "There may still be hope, my friend. Lay him on the ground."  
  
Gimli obeyed and watched in silent astonishment while Legolas withdrew from his pouch a few limp leaves of athelas. "Crush these on your teeth and give him your breath," Legolas said.  
  
The dwarf did as he was bidden and blew the healing vapors of the plant into Pippin's mouth. "Come back to us, Pippin," he whispered. "Now is not your time."  
  
Legolas then drew his elven blade and sliced through the stiff Gondorian armor. He took a few more leaves of athelas, put his hand beneath the mail shirt, and massaged the plant against the skin above Pippin's heart. "Return, Pippin," he too whispered. "This cannot be the will of the Valor. Your spirit is strong and your race is hearty. Your tale is not yet written."  
  
Again and anon Gimli encouraged breath to return to the hobbit's body while Legolas coaxed his heart to beat. And when, at last, Gimli was near to losing hope, Legolas smiled joyfully. "His heart stirs."  
  
Gimli sighed with relief and Pippin echoed him softly. The elf and the dwarf held still, hoping against hope. Pippin drew another breath, terribly slowly and slightly, but breath it was.  
  
Gimli laughed aloud. "He lives!"  
  
Legolas nodded. "Indeed his does, but not for long unless we bring him to Elessar for healing."  
  
"You are right." And Gimli caught up the hobbit and bore him back to Minas Tirith. 


	2. Day Two, March 26

ONLY A DAY YET  
  
*I am trying to post at a reasonable pace but please be patient with me - it's finals week here. In the meantime, if you need more Pippin-recovers- after-getting-squooshed-by-troll-stories two excellent ones are "Fate and the High King's Falcon" by Baylor and "Thirteen Days After, One Day Before" by Zebra Wallpaper. Praise them with great praise!  
  
************************************************************************ Day Two/March 26  
  
Aragorn, after tending so many of his people - some brought back to the light, others relinquished to the shadows - had been able to push his concern for Pippin's fate to the far corners of his mind. The return of Frodo and Sam by the Eagles had stirred the question of the fate of Frodo's little cousin before it submerged beneath the care and tending of the other two hobbits. Gandalf sat with them now, keeping watch like a proud moutain hawk with its chicks. Now, as Aragorn prepared to retire to his own cot, the thought of Pippin was brought back with a vengeance as he saw Legolas approach.  
  
"Elessar! He is found." Legolas grew grave for a moment. "He lives now yet he is in great need of your skill. Gimli found him beneath the cave troll he slew."  
  
Aragorn caught his breath in astonishment. "He slew a troll? He is fortunate indeed to be living still."  
  
Legolas bowed his head. "Elessar, when Pippin was found, he was not living. It took the efforts of us two and the virtue of athelas to bring him back."  
  
It did not take long for the king to grasp the full implication of how gravely wounded the hobbit was and he sent a healing woman to clear off a pallet and fetch hot water. "Where is Pippin now?"  
  
"Gimli would have no other bear him." Legolas looked up at the door. "He comes now." Aragorn followed Legolas' gaze and beheld Gimli entering with a small body in his arms. Even at the distance he could discern the gravity of Pippin's condition.  
  
"Gimli, lay him here." Aragorn accepted the basin of water and cloths from the healing woman with a nod of thanks. "Now then."  
  
Pippin was so covered in blood, dirt, and filth that it was nearly impossible for Aragorn to take stock of his injuries, even after the mail shirt and outerwear had been removed. His curls were stiff with it and his skin was deeply ingrained with it. Aragorn sent for more hot water and began to gently wash away the grime.  
  
Slowly the various wounds came to light and the ruin of the young hobbit's body nearly made him weep. The gashes on his nose and cheek caused by the helm's edges proved to be bloody but not serious, although Aragorn suspected at least one of the nasal bones had cracked. To these he applied a salve to stimulate healing and stave off infection.  
  
Darkening patches on his face and body showed where a plethora of bruises would soon form. Nothing could be done about them so Aragorn left them firmly alone. The right elbow was twisted out of proper alignment and had to be set. Naught but a firm wrench would set it straight again. Aragorn ordered Gimli and Legolas to hold the small body still and grasped Pippin's arm both above and below the elbow. There was an audible pop from the elbow but no sound from Pippin. The arm was bound with cloth.  
  
Pippin's hands were unbroken but the joints were swollen and stiff, especially the right, which had grasped the sword more firmly. Aragorn soaked them in water, hoping the warmth might relieve the stiffness and make easier the treatment. At last he was able to straighten the fingers somewhat and had them gentle wrapped to keep them from clenching again.  
  
The left ankle, not the one that had alerted Gimli to Pippin's presence, was badly twisted. Aragorn gently set it right and bound it firmly in place. Several ribs were also cracked if not outright broken. Aragorn debated the wisdom of having them similarly bound. Pippin's breathing was already laboured and the bindings would hamper it further.  
  
There was also the worrisome factor of the swelling and bruised firmness of his belly. These were symptoms of internal bleeding. Binding the ribs could further injure him and increase the bleeding.  
  
At last Aragorn decided against it and had a tea of herbs brewed to slow the bleeding. It took many failed efforts to get the tea into the unconscious patient. The only consolation was that Pippin's paled skin began to warm from the king's gentle treatment.  
  
"You must rest, Elessar," Legolas said at the end of the ministrations. "I will inform Gandalf of Pippin's return."  
  
"Also send word to Merry that his cousin lives."  
  
Legolas nodded and departed. Aragorn sighed as he looked down upon Pippin, nearly hidden from view beneath the blankets layered upon him. "The air grows chill. He must be kept warm as the night wanes. Yet the weight of the blankets is such that I do not know of if his ribs will tolerate more."  
  
"The elven cloaks of the Lady of the Golden Woods are warm as wool and light as thistledown," Gimli said. "If he has more need of my cloak than I, he shall have it."  
  
Aragorn nodded wearily. "Thank you. You will keep watch, then?"  
  
"I will do so," Gimli said.  
  
"I do not like to leave you but Legolas will surely join you when he is able."  
  
"If he does I shall send him to his own rest," retorted Gimli. "It will not do to have all of us wearied beyond use."  
  
Aragorn smiled. "Do as you will," he said, and departed for his tent. 


	3. Mar 26 into Day Three, March 27

Day Two, March 26  
  
Gimli sighed as he looked upon his small charge. It had been only a little while since he had sent Legolas to bed and already he was growing weary with worry and exhaustion. Pippin remained still as death. Every so often Gimli stretched out his hand to feel the soft breath against his skin to reassure himself that the hobbit still lived. If anything, his appearance was growing worse. The cuts on his face were a livid red and the bruises blossomed into an impressive display of purples and reds. Yet Gimli satisfied himself with noting that the cuts were closing and Pippin's cheeks were warmer and not the dead white they had been when first he was brought in. Gently he brushed calloused fingers over the skin and was rewarded with a sigh that brought a smile to his face.  
  
"It never fails to astonish me how deeply the Shire folk may entwine themselves into the heart," a familiar, deep voice commented from nearby. Gimli turned and beheld Gandalf standing just inside the tent, habitually leaning on his staff. He too looked weary but the countenance he wore was that of compassion.  
  
Gimli sat straighter, unwilling to further betray his affection towards the hobbit and yet not quite willing to deny it. "It is astonishing to me that they command any fondness at all," he said at last. "They are a troublesome race to be sure."  
  
Gandalf merely laughed quietly. "And yet one cannot help but love them more for it." He moved closer to the other side of the pallet on which Pippin lay and knelt next to it. "Especially the wooly footed and wool- pated truants. They do hold a command for fondness that is all their own, do they not?"  
  
The dwarf flushed and cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner. "What of the Ringbearer and Sam? You have not left them alone?"  
  
"No, Legolas came to relieve me of my watch not long ago. He said words to the effect of allowing others to rest so that we might take turns with our exhaustion. He also seemed to think he had been chased away from Pippin by a son of the Mountain and so was forced to seek out other patients."  
  
"I'm sure he exaggerates. It is a trait rampant among the elves."  
  
Gandalf laughed again and laid a hand on Pippin's brow. The smile faded. "What did Aragorn say about his condition?"  
  
"That the worst of his injuries are the broken ribs, and a danger of internal bleeding," said Gimli. He moved closer, liking not Gandalf's grave expression.  
  
"There may also be a chance of disease as there was with Faramir. His body is weakened. It will be harder for him to fight infection. He grows warmer now and yet I am uneasy. It may be his natural heat returning or the flame of fever newly kindled. Keep close watch." Gandalf allowed his hand to linger a moment longer, then rose. "Pippin is dear to us all, Gimli. Do not hesitate to ask for aid should you need it. And do not allow yourself to tire overly much else you find yourself chased away by a son of Mirkwood."  
  
The last comment, Gimli felt as he returned his attention to Pippin, was quite unnecessary.  
  
*************************************************************** Day Three, March 27  
  
"It is all very well for Gandalf to say 'ask for aid,' " Gimli grumbled in a panic. "A pity he did not specify how to ask for aid while not abandoning my post!"  
  
The first full day of Pippin's recovery had passed uneventfully for him. For half the daylight hours Gimli had kept vigil only to find himself bodily removed from the tent by Aragorn, ordering him to rest. Upon awaking in the twilight hours, Gimli found that many of the wounded and the healers had been dispatched to Ithilien to meet healers from Rohan, though those in most peril remained until they were well enough to travel, or until their spirits departed. Gandalf and Legolas too had departed, Frodo and Sam with them.  
  
"They sleep peacefully now," Aragorn had assured him. "There is no danger is moving them, and the cool air of Ithilien is far better for them now that the air here is polluted with the dust and smoke of Mount Doom."  
  
Of Pippin, it was deemed still too risky. Aragorn had been vague as to why but at last, pressed repeated by Gimli, he had explained.  
  
"Pippin has vomited blood."  
  
"He bleeds inside?"  
  
"I fear so, and every bout of it weakens him further."  
  
"So this has happened more than once!" Gimli had exclaimed.  
  
Aragorn reluctantly admitted that twice during Gimli's sleep Pippin had brought up blood. "We have given him infusions and teas to slow the bleeding. There has been some success as the second time was less violent. Even so, danger remains. It is not good for his ribs to be moved thus nor for a form as small as his to lose too much blood, weakened as it is. He grows feverish and still does not wake."  
  
"Gandalf feared that," Gimli said.  
  
"If you take watch over him tonight you would do well to have one of us nearby," Aragorn had warned him.  
  
"I will most certainly call you if I need aid," Gimli had assured him.  
  
But now the dwarf began to regret his confident words. It had begun shortly after dawn, with Pippin's breath coming more rapidly and his face paling. Concerned, Gimli leaned closer in time to see his broken chest hitch and he convulsed in an ominous way. Gimli was nearly too late in realizing what was happening and had just enough time to roll him on his side with a basin close by before the inevitable. As he feared, the contents of the basin were bloody.  
  
His heart pounded. He was about to call for Aragorn when Pippin moaned. It was the first sound he had made since his rescue. Uncertainty took hold of Gimli's mind. Pippin needed care from one more experienced than he and yet it would not do to have him wake while alone.  
  
"Pippin," he whispered, "do you at last wake?"  
  
He drew his hand along Pippin's face, careful not to touch the cuts. He was noticeably warmer than before. It was a low fever then, but a fever at any temperature was unwanted. From the hobbit came the sounds of breath but not of voice. With this assurance of Pippin's deep slumber, Gimli went to fetch Aragorn.  
  
Aragorn sat deep in thought in his tent when the dwarf burst in unannounced. "You have need of assistance?" he inquired.  
  
Gimli bowed his head. "He brings up more blood. I thought he would wake so I tarried but he sleeps again, I think."  
  
Aragorn rose and quickly outpaced Gimli on the way to Pippin's tent. He pulled up the flap with a practiced quickness that did not create a draft nor much noise and strode to Pippin's side. Aragorn drew down the blankets and gently ran his hands along the bruised and tender flesh. "He sleeps more naturally than yesterday," he said. "The blood he vomited is thin and light in color. It shows signs that the bleeding inside has slowed. I will prepare a tea to continue the healing." Aragorn rested a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Stay with him. I think he shall wake today, perhaps soon, and will wish to see the face of a friend. It will be a while before Merry arrives."  
  
"You sent for Merry?"  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "I sent word to Merry, nothing more. But I know the bond between the halflings. Merry will meet the wounded in Ithilien and when he does not find Pippin among them I have little doubt he will continue here. I will return shortly."  
  
Gimli nodded and replaced the blankets around the hobbit. "You see, little one, the troubles you cause everyone?" he asked, not unkindly. "The least you can do is open your eyes and speak. Too many days have missed your ceaseless chatter." Again he brushed the brown curls from Pippin's eyes, which twitched in response, then parted. His gaze settled on Gimli, unfocused for a moment, then recognition swept over his face.  
  
"Now then, Master Hobbit," the dwarf said gruffly, trying to mask his relief and delight, "have you any words for your rescuer?"  
  
"Am I truly such trouble?" Pippin asked in the hoarsest of whispers.  
  
Gimli grasped his hand carefully. "No, Pippin, of course not. I spoke only in jest. I tell you in truth, my heart is gladdened beyond words to see you alive and awake now."  
  
"Alive," Pippin repeated faintly. "But I thought - "  
  
Pippin's voice trailed off and bewildered gaze wandered from the dwarf to the surrounding tent, and then to Aragorn who entered with a mug of tea in his hands. "Aragorn," he said.  
  
The man's face broke into a smile. "So he does remain with the living after all!"  
  
Pippin's brow furrowed. "So Gimli tells me. Yet I thought I died out there in battle. I would think I was dead now only I did not think it would hurt so to be dead?"  
  
Aragorn knelt by his side. "Your memory does not deceive you, Pippin. You spirit had indeed flown your body when you were found but seemed reluctant to leave for it returned quickly. Know that you live now, and will most likely continue to do so for many years to come. The pain you feel now will pass in time and you shall become whole once again." He gently raised the hobbit to sitting and held the mug to his lips.  
  
"What of Frodo and the Ring? And the war?" Pippin begged before taking a sip of what was offered.  
  
"The war is over, the Ring is destroyed, and Frodo and Sam live. They have been sent to Ithilien where you will go when you are stronger," Aragorn said. He raised the mug yet again.  
  
Pippin drank slowly, his eyes looking about him but not truly seeing. Gimli watched his confusion with growing apprehension, though he held his tongue. At last Pippin's strength flagged and his eyes closed as he turned his head from the drink. Aragorn laid him back down and replaced the blankets around him with a touch as delicate as a mother's.  
  
"What is wrong?" Gimli demanded. "He looks upon the world as if he had never seen it before."  
  
"He looks upon the world as if he sees it after expecting never to do so again," said Aragorn, "which may be closer to the truth than we would care to believe. It was a shock to see Gandalf returned. It can only be more so to find yourself returned. Give him time, Gimli. The air will ring with his laughter again."  
  
"I hope you are right," was all Gimli would say, despite his thoughts to the contrary. 


	4. Day Four, March 28

Day Four, March 28  
  
Pippin did not sleep right away for his struggle to understand was too great. Frodo and Sam had succeeded. They lived. But how could that be? The Voice of Sauron at the Black Gate had offered terms that Gandalf rejected. Would not the Enemy have slain them? And how could the Ring have been destroyed if it were in the Enemy's hands?  
  
Then there was the problem of himself. He was alive. Despite his despair when Gandalf rejected the terms, despite the troll, he lived. Strider had told him he was dead when they had found him. He remembered vividly the last moments as he lay crushed beneath his fallen foe, with the breath forced from his body and the horrid stench surrounding him. He even recalled his heart slowing, unable to continuing beating with the enormous weight bearing down on him. Yet, somehow, they had found a way to return his spirit to his body.  
  
Pippin shifted on the pallet and grimaced. Yes, there could be no doubt that he was alive. He was acutely aware of every painful breath disturbing his ribs, of the ache inside just below that, of every beat of his heart as it pounded in his head. There were no such hurts when the blackness had taken him.  
  
He began to feel ashamed. He had been granted a second chance at life when so many worthy others had perished. Why did he live, he who had lost hope and despaired? Beregond - what of him? And his son Bergil, who had come the closest to filling that lonely void Pippin had felt since he had been parted from Merry? He did not know if he could bear news of sad tidings about his newfound friends.  
  
What sort of world did he dwell in if such goodness and innocence and joy could be snuffed out as easily as a tallow candle? His eyes had been opened since the death of Denethor. Evil existed in forms he would not have recognized had he not left the Shire. Pippin was uncertain whether or not this was for the better.  
  
So, alive he was and alive he would most likely remain. And being alive meant dwelling with all the evil of the world. For the sake of those who had died Pippin would not wish for death but bear his burden silently, as best he could, and try to honor their memory.  
  
*****  
  
March 28, midday  
  
Merry peered up into the bright sunlight shining down among the pine branches of Ithilien. For nearly a full day and night he had sat curled up in the corner of a rations cart, betwixt a mound of blankets and carefully piled bottles of herbs. He had lost the feeling in his feet and legs but he did not mind. Ever since the messenger from the last battle had arrived in Rohan his thoughts had been solely for his fellow hobbits.  
  
The message contained some general statements for all of Rohan, and a few lines directed towards a few folk. The War of the Rings had ended triumphantly for the forces of Men but the casualties were great. Any healers that could be spared were to be sent to Ithilien to tend the wounded. For Merry, two curt lines assuring him that Frodo and Sam lived, though they required a great deal of healing. Of Pippin, that he lived but had been gravely wounded. He had begged permission of Lady Eowyn to depart with the healers and she, seeing his great need to be reunited with his kin, had acquiesced.  
  
Merry struggled out of the cart and stumbled as his legs failed to hold him upright. He grasped out for a nearby tree with his left hand for his sword hand too was numb.  
  
"This is too much," he muttered. "One limb I may do without but three is going a bit too far. At least I know this shall pass quickly."  
  
"Ho there, Master Perian," called one of Rohirrim healers. "Do you grow faint already without having so much as looked upon one injured soldier?"  
  
"No," Merry answered. "I merely wait for my body to remember that it is a hobbit and not a water flagon."  
  
"May your body recover its memory quickly," she replied. "The wounded from the Black Gate arrive now and from their numbers I judge we will be in sore need of all available hands."  
  
Merry squinted his eyes, not yet ready to loosen his grip to shade his gaze. Already he could count half a score of carts amidst perhaps fifty swaying horsemen, and more were following. He stamped his feet impatiently and felt the blood tingling in them up to the thigh.  
  
The healers unloaded their carts, setting up tents with medicines, bandages and bindings, metal tools of healing, and blankets. Tents for food appeared, as did more for residence. All was briskness and practicality though there was an air among them that was similar to that of soldiers about to enter a battle. Merry was chilled to see a few carts pulled off to the side, with only shovels nearby. It was a battle, he realized, but one fought with poultices and teas rather than swords and shields.  
  
At last his legs felt steady enough to bear him and he sought out the healer who had called to him. "What do you wish me to do?"  
  
The healer, called Imrohil, looked him over knowingly. "Help unload the carts and stack the supplies so that like rests with like. When that is finished, seek out your kin."  
  
"But there will be wounded to tend!" Merry protested.  
  
"There will indeed," Imrohil said, "but I will need one whose mind resides with the here and now and not with the where and when. Go and complete your task."  
  
Merry bowed to her and climbed back into the cart to pass supplies to those waiting. He lost count of how many blankets passed through his hands, of what herbs he came across, and of the purposes for some of the equipment he saw. It seemed an age had passed before the last of the carts was bare, save for the small bundle of Pippin's old clothes he had though to bring. He looked one more time to Imrohil, who waved him away, before climbing down to look for Frodo, Pippin, and Sam.  
  
It was not hard to find where the Ringbearer was kept. Merry saw a flash of dazzling white among the throngs of people and immediately recognized the king of horses, Shadowfax. Merry hurried over to him.  
  
"Shadowfax," he panted. "You here! Does this mean Gandalf is with you?"  
  
The horse whickered softly and tossed his mane in such a way that the hobbit understood it to be a confirmation of Gandalf's presence. He reached up a hand to stroke the white side.  
  
"And what of my kinsmen? Are they here as well? And Sam?"  
  
Again Shadowfax tossed his mane and began to step away. "Wait!" Merry cried and struggled to catch up. Shadowfax looked over to see if Merry followed but did not halt until they arrived at one tent on the edge of the encampment. Merry could hear two familiar voices as he approached but neither belonged to the hobbits he seeked.  
  
"Gandalf?" he called softly and entered the tent.  
  
The wizard was there as was Legolas. Between them stood two small cots upon which lay two wasted forms. Only two; no more.  
  
"Merry!" Gandalf gestured him back. "Wait a moment before you come closer, my lad. You must understand some things first."  
  
"I have waited so long!" he protested. "Why do you deny me the sight of them? And who is the hobbit missing?"  
  
Gandalf sighed. "You see before you Frodo and Sam but they are much changed, Merry, even as you yourself are. They have undergone much since they parted company from you. They have traveled far on little food and little water, beaten and frightened and smothered with the fumes of Mordor. They were very near death when the Eagles brought them more than half dead from the cliffs of Mount Doom." He stopped and smiled reassuringly. "But the hands of the king are the hands of a healer as you have reason to know. Aragorn has tended them and put them into a deep sleep while their bodies recover. And now, if you feel ready, you may see them."  
  
Merry trembled slightly under the weight of what he was told but he came forward. Legolas drew the blankets down somewhat to aid his view.  
  
He was unsure if they were as bad as he had expected for he did not know what, exactly, he had expected. Frodo and Sam had become so thin he half expected them to shatter. Their skins were taut and pale and covered in sores just beginning to heal. Their lips were cracked and seemed to have bled from dryness at some point. Dark shadows lay beneath their eyes and their cheekbones threatened to poke through the skin. The fingertips were rubbed raw. Frodo's right hand was bandaged oddly and Merry realized with a start that it was because the middle finger was missing.  
  
"Frodo put on the ring at the end," Legolas said quietly. "Gollum bit off the finger to gain the ring but fell into the molten rock."  
  
Merry turned his head, eyes stinging with unshed tears. "It is so horrible," he whispered. "I can scarce recognize the master and servant of Bag End. Are you sure they will recover?"  
  
"Quite sure, Master Meriadoc," said Gandalf. "Though it will take much time. Patience and do not be hasty, as Treebeard would advise."  
  
Merry sighed and recalled the small bundle he still clutched. "Where is Pippin?" His heart seemed to freeze when Gandalf and Legolas did not answer but merely looked to each other. "Where is he?" he repeated shrilly. "Please tell me. It is the unknown that will kill me." He stopped and whispered, "He is dead."  
  
"No." Legolas' voice was swift and sure. "No, Merry. Pippin lives. He was left with others equally injured so that he could gain the strength for travel."  
  
"He was wounded so greatly?"  
  
Legolas crouched down to look the hobbit in the eye. "He was indeed. Take pride in his actions, Merry. He slew one of the hill-trolls from Gorgoroth that would have taken the life of Beregond of Gondor. Sadly, he was caught beneath the foul creature as it fell. Gimli discovered him in the evening. There was no life in him then."  
  
Merry paled so quickly the elf put out a hand to steady him. "But you said he lives . . ."  
  
"His spirit is too strong and too loving of life to be parted from Middle Earth so easily," Legolas said gently. "Ere it had flown far it returned. Aragorn and Gimli tend him now and will accompany him to Ithilien when he is more recovered." The elf rested a slim hand on his shoulder. "Do not fear, Merry. Pippin is in safe hands. You will see him soon."  
  
Merry clutched the bundle tighter and looked towards Frodo and Sam. "Can I help them in any way?"  
  
"There is not much any of us can do for them now," Gandalf replied. "They require only rest and quiet. I myself will return to the battle site within the day to help escort the last of the wounded here."  
  
"Then let me go with you!" he cried. "You say I cannot help them. Let me go to where I might do some good."  
  
Gandalf shook his head. "Merry, the healers need aid here. You can help by remaining in Ithilien."  
  
The hobbit set his jaw stubbornly. "When I arrived in Minas Tirith, ill and cold, Pippin stayed with me when no other did. He stayed by my side until all of Gondor was called out to fight and he left me only when he had no choice. Pippin gave me hope when I had none. He needs me now, Gandalf, and I will go to him if I have to walk the entire way!"  
  
Merry's words hung in the silence of the tent. He stood defiantly though suddenly frightened as the wizard gave him a stern look.  
  
"Meriadoc Brandybuck, would you leave Frodo and Sam, and others in need of care to journey to your cousin's side?"  
  
He trembled but answered honestly. "I would. It tears my heart that I cannot be in two places at once but he needs me even as I need him. "  
  
Gandalf rose, towering above even Legolas. For a moment Merry quailed beneath the gray eyes. "Very well, then," said Gandalf. "We ride for the Slag-hills of Mordor." He then departed the tent.  
  
Merry stared at Legolas with eyes rounded with astonishment, not yet ready to believe his ears. "Hurry, if you are coming!" Gandalf's voice drifted back to them and he took to his heels to catch up.  
  
Legolas smiled and tucked the blankets back around the hobbits. "It is just as well, then, that I am left alone to tend you for now," he said softly. "I would not be Aragorn nor Gimli for the world if even one of the Maia gives in to an onslaught of Meriadoc the Terrible."  
  
*****  
  
March 28, evening  
  
"I am sorry, Strider," Pippin said in a small voice. His face was gray beneath the flush of fever and beads of sweat sat on his brow and soaked his hair. His chest heaved with the effort of drawing more air but the bout of vomiting had passed.  
  
Aragorn patted his arm. "It is not your fault. I should have known better than to force soup on you when your stomach is still tender. It does not help either that I disturbed your sleep. I am glad, though, that the bleeding has stopped."  
  
Pippin's eyes widened. "I did not know I had been injured in that way."  
  
Aragorn nodded. "It was the greatest cause for concern for us. Though I like not this low fever you have. It would not do for you to fall ill." He rose from beside the pallet and crossed the tent to where the herbs were kept.  
  
Pippin silently agreed with the last statement. There was always someone nearby to tend him though he knew there were others in danger that were in need to tending as well. If he grew ill would not his friends be even more burdened? As it was, he was trying hard to recover quickly. If only his body would cooperate.  
  
Aragorn returned with a mug in hand. "This is a tea to fight off disease. Are you able to drink now?"  
  
"I can drink but I do not know if it will stay where it is supposed to," Pippin admitted.  
  
"I have added a root that will ease the nausea. It is not of our lands but possesses healing qualities." Aragorn allowed Pippin to take the mug in both hands, though they were still bandaged and stiff.  
  
Pippin kept his gaze on his hands while he drank in small sips. There was an example of how his body was betraying his best efforts to heal. The fingers were mottled with bruises that had darkened into hues of purple and blue and were swollen still, though perhaps not as much as yesterday. They flexed only with the greatest of effort and then not without a good deal of pain. Still, the warmth from the drink eased the ache somewhat.  
  
Aragorn watched Pippin with some concern. There was a melancholy about him that was uncharacteristic, and he was far quieter than expected. Aragorn wondered if there was another, undiscovered injury Pippin was keeping silent about. Yet upon examination nothing new met his eye. The cuts and bruises about his face were unpleasant but healing quickly and his ribs were doing likewise. The hands were swollen but movable now and the right elbow was able to bend slowly. Even Pippin's left ankle had lost some swelling although Aragorn judged it was not yet ready to be manipulated. And the fever would break soon.  
  
A thought struck Aragorn as he watched Pippin lower the mug and blink as though he struggled to keep his eyes open. Shortly before he had woken the hobbit, Pippin had gasped out Merry's name in his sleep. It could be that he missed his kin more than suspected.  
  
Aragorn gently drew the mug out of the hobbit's unresisting grasp. "Sleep, Pippin. Merry will find a way to your side."  
  
Pippin managed a smile and obediently shut his eyes. He would not, however, admit to longing his cousin's presence next to him. He did not like to think of Merry traipsing to Mordor with his arm still wounded from smiting the Witch-king just for his sake. Even if part of him did wish it to be so. 


	5. Day Five, March 29

Please forgive the wait - this is the longest chapter to date. Warning: here be good old-fashioned hobbit torture followed by unashamed and blatantly mushy hobbit comfort. Though I haven't used up my quota just yet. As Mistoffelees noticed, this story is leading up to the feast on April 8.  
  
***************************************************************  
  
Day Five, March 29:  
  
It was the coughing that got Merry's attention, a deep-chested cough that boded no good. Merry searched through the wounded frantically. At last he spotted Pippin and felt his heart freeze in horror. Pippin was covered in blood. His hair was matted with it and more poured from the gashes that mutilated his face. An ominous gurgle came whenever he breathed. At Merry's hesitant touch the eyes opened and that was more horrible than ever, to see his perfect eyes look out at Merry in such a ruined setting.  
  
"Mer . . ."  
  
"No, don't talk," Merry pleaded and gathered up the bloodied form of his cousin. Pippin's eyes never left his face.  
  
"Too late," he breathed.  
  
Merry shook his head. "No. Don't talk like that. Don't talk at all. I'm going to get you help. Just hold on, Pippin."  
  
"Too late, Mer." Pippin's eyes remained open but changed, empty as a broken eggshell. Merry felt the body he held grow limper and heavier.  
  
"No," he whispered. He shook Pippin to no avail. "No. No, this can't be happening. Not you. Pippin, no. No, you can't be dead! No!"  
  
Merry gasped and the nightmare scene vanished like smoke in the wind. The cool air breezed by and nipped his face as Shadowfax ran ever on. Gandalf's arm held him around the middle even firmer than before. Merry took several deep breaths and tried to clear his mind.  
  
"A nightmare about Pippin," Gandalf said matter-of-factly.  
  
Merry did not try to deny it. "I was too late. He died."  
  
Gandalf was silent for some moments. Merry thought he had decided to pretend the whole business had not happened so he was surprised when the wizard spoke again. "I will not try to comfort you by repeating what you already know, that Pippin lives and is in the best of care. The head cannot control the heart in such matters. I only say that we will be in outside the Black Gates soon, and you will not be too late. Now then. Would you prefer to hear of what befell Frodo and Sam after you parted company, or how Pippin fared in the service of Gondor?"  
  
Merry blinked in confusion. "I don't understand."  
  
"Has worry so clouded your wits then?" asked Gandalf. "Perhaps you will attempt to sleep more tonight? No? Then I am attempting to distract you from your groundless concerns by giving you some much-needed information on what has happened to the rest of the Company."  
  
"Well, then," Merry stammered, "I should prefer to hear about Frodo and Sam as I have already seen them."  
  
"Very well. Frodo made for the river, followed by Sam." And the white horse with its two riders continued west as the night waned on.  
  
*****  
  
Pippin was surrounded by a dark rolling mist that soaked his hair and clothing and smelled of foulness. The other members of the Fellowship were somewhere in the mist. "Hullo?" he called. Only his voice echoed back to him.  
  
Pippin tramped about, his feet squelching in the marsh mud. At times it seemed he heard footsteps belonging to others yet it was impossible to pick out from which direction they came, or if they were real at all. The longer he walked, though, the stronger the feeling became that he was watched by unfriendly eyes. Every hair from the top of his head down to his toes prickled unpleasantly.  
  
"Oi, Pippin!" Merry's voice floated through the mist and made him jump. "Stay put and we'll find you. Trust a Took to lose his way in a mist such as this," Merry finished with a grumble.  
  
"No!" Pippin was not certain how he knew such an action would bring disaster upon his friends but he knew it nonetheless. "No, Merry! Stay away!"  
  
Black shapes appeared and disappeared around him. He could feel their evil anticipation grow. "Merry, please! It's death for you to come nearer."  
  
"Don't be silly, foolish Took," Merry's voice said. "Keep calling. I'll follow your voice."  
  
Pippin shut up his mouth tight, vowing not to speak another word that would bring Merry closer to his doom. Silent, as Gandalf had ordered him to be at the Black Gate. It mattered not. Merry came skipping out of the mist. "Ho, Pippin! You led us on quite the - "  
  
Black forms came boiling out of the grayness surrounding the hobbits. Merry gave a cry and tried to draw his sword but his sword hand fumbled and fell to his side, useless. The shades fell upon him and dragged him away, his shrieks fading into the dampness.  
  
Pippin lunged forward with a cry of his own but he was too late. The foe had taken Merry. He fell to his knees in bereavement, sobs building inside him. Then he heard it.  
  
"A Elbereth, Gilthoniel silivren penna miriel o menel aglar elenath! Na-chaered palan-diriel O galadhremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon Nef aear, si nef aearon!"*  
  
The mist lightened and the gloom fell away at the fair tongue of the elves. Pippin was reminded of the soft glow he had seen in Lothlorien, the fresh scents of Rivendell blossoms, and the gentle rains that fell on the Shire in spring. His fright and sorrow melted and the nightmare bled into a peaceful slumber.  
  
*****  
  
Midmorning  
  
Gimli found Aragorn crouched by Pippin's side, fingers tangled in the hobbit's curls, as the last notes of the elven song died away. "How does he fare?"  
  
"Fast improving in body though still troubled in mind," said Aragorn. "He had a nightmare just now, in which Merry came to grief because of him, or so he believes. I fear he will keep silent about such worries though why and to what end I know not. If he speaks I will gladly listen and give counsel but I will not pry on his thoughts."  
  
"Can you not help him another way?" Gimli demanded.  
  
Aragorn spread his hands helplessly. "I may only help to heal. The healing itself cannot be forced upon the unwilling. I bring my charges to the point where they themselves take over or where one much loved can give aid. It was Eomer, remember, who called Eowyn to full waking. So in short, Master Dwarf, I have done what I can. The rest is up to Pippin."  
  
"And Merry," the dwarf reminded him. "Ah! I have nearly forgotten. A splendid white horse with two riders has been seen approaching. They will arrive within the hour."  
  
"Gandalf and Merry?"  
  
"I can think of no others."  
  
"Then we shall meet them." Aragorn rose and brushed at his knees. "They must have journeyed through the night to have arrived so quickly. I will see that two pallets are ready for the weary travelers if you will tend to their food and drink."  
  
*****  
  
The tale of the Ringbearers had finished long ago though Merry had not slept. Fear of another nightmare and the rising sun's light kept him awake. That, and the thought of seeing Pippin soon. Two threads of thought chased each other 'round his brain. Surely Pippin would not be in such bad a condition as Frodo and Sam. But Legolas said he had died and had not the strength to travel yet. But Merry had watched Pippin, perfectly healthy, march out to battle barely more than a week ago. But much could happen in a week or even a battle, as he knew all too well. But surely a week could not do to Pippin what months did to Frodo and Sam . . . It was a relief when the twisted wreck of the Black Gates, forever open now, appeared on the horizon.  
  
"Is that the entrance to Mordor?" he asked.  
  
"We have been in the land of Mordor since the dawn," Gandalf said. "That is the entrance to Barad-Dur, or what remains of it since Sauron was defeated. Soon will you see Mount Doom. It too is much changed. It spewed forth ash and poisonous gas when Frodo cast the Ring into it."  
  
Merry noticed then the footfalls of Shadowfax had lightened in sound as the great horse ran over the white ash on the ground. "How far are the wounded from the Gates?"  
  
"A goodly distance. It is not as far as could be hoped for, perhaps, but as far as they could manage in the chaos. We shall reach the encampment much sooner than we would reach the Gates."  
  
Merry fell silent and wished with all his might that the great white horse would go faster yet. He knew this was unfair and yet he could not help his impatience. So he fretted a bit about their speed before his thoughts once again fell to the two threads. "What is Pippin like?"  
  
Gandalf looked at him from amidst bushy eyebrows. "Pippin is your cousin, Meriadoc. If you do not know what he is like by now there is little hope that I will know."  
  
Merry sighed. "I meant, how has he changed? That is to say, the injuries." He sighed again, frustrated at his inability to speak plainly. "What am I to expect?"  
  
"Ah." Gandalf looked out at the land stretching out in front of them. "His appearance is not so changed as you fear. The most grievous of the injuries were internal. His face is marked with cuts and bruising though by now they will be healing. Mind his ribs and sword arm. The ribs were broken, the arm twisted. Also be wary of his hands. They were not broken but they will most likely be bruised and tender."  
  
"Mercy!" cried the hobbit. "All this and yet you say he is little changed?"  
  
"I said no such thing," Gandalf replied. "I said his appearance is not so bad as you may fear it to be after seeing how starvation and toil took their toll on the Ringbearers. Of course Pippin himself is changed. He will still be the cheerful young lad you remember but I should be very much surprised if he has not gained a little sobriety and wisdom through the ordeal."  
  
Merry stared down at the bundle he carried. "Have any of us come out of it untouched, Gandalf?"  
  
The wizard smiled gently. "I think not. But not all change is for the worst. Hitherto the council at Rivendell Gimli would not have suffered an elf's presence willingly nor Legolas the company of a dwarf. But now two closer friends you will never find, excepting perhaps hobbits."  
  
Merry nodded and again lapsed into silence as they grew ever nearer to the encampment. The ash from Mount Doom covered the ground more deeply here but Shadowfax neatly picked his way through it. Before them, hastily constructed tents popped up here and there in white and brown and olive. On the far edge of the encampment it looked as though the ground had been disturbed in rows. The area stretched for an impossible length. Merry was about to ask why when he spotted bodies piled in heaps and men in their shirtsleeves moving about the rows with shovels. He understood, and shuddered.  
  
Two figures appeared to be waiting for them, one little more than half the height of the other. Merry squinted at them through the dazzling sun in his eyes. "That is Strider and Gimli!"  
  
"Indeed, though Strider goes by Aragorn now and you would do well to remember it."  
  
Merry nodded but had no time to answer. Shadowfax slowed his pace as they approached but it took no more than the blink of an eye to bring the parties together. It seemed to Merry that they were tired and worn but not sorrowing.  
  
Aragorn did not look surprised to see two riders rather than one. "Welcome back, Gandalf. And welcome to you also, Merry. You arrive sooner than expected."  
  
"I did not know that I was expected," Merry replied, allowing Aragorn to help him to the ground.  
  
Gimli chuckled. "Then you underestimate your predictability, young hobbit. We have bee waiting for you to arrive since the messenger left days ago. Come. Pippin sleeps but I think he will not mind you disturbing him."  
  
Gandalf waved him on. "Go. I will tend Shadowfax and join you a little later."  
  
Gimli pulled aside the flap for Merry and was about to enter as well when Aragorn caught his arm. "Give them some time alone," he whispered.  
  
Merry approached slowly and let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. His cousin did look better than he had feared. Indeed, he looked very much as he had back in the Shire, sleeping peacefully with his head turned to his left hand, which was resting on the pillow, and sword arm crooked over his chest. If only the outline of a Gondorian helm did not remain on his face, Merry would be hard pressed to say Pippin looked any different than he had in the Shire. Then, as he neared, he saw Pippin's sword arm was in a sling and there were bruises all over, fading blue with yellow and green. He dropped the parcel and sat on the pallet serving as a bed so that he could face Pippin. Merry ran his fingers over the half- healed cuts with a feather-light touch. The skin was warm, surely too warm to be healthy, but Pippin didn't seem to be bothered by it.  
  
But soon it was not enough to simply look at his cousin. Merry had to hear his voice again, to see him open his eyes and know once and for all that Pippin was all right. Merry leaned forward and called his name.  
  
"Pippin."  
  
The voice was familiar, the pitch low and gentle. Pippin cracked his eyes open. Merry was sitting on the bed leaning over him. His mind, still muddled with sleep, thought this was not unusual. Pippin smiled at little, remembering how Merry would wake him in the morning whenever they had slept over at Bag End. Then his mind woke and everything came back to him in a rush.  
  
"Merry!" Pippin cried and bolted upright to throw his arms about his cousin. A bolt of pain shot through his arm but it was forgotten in his joy. Merry returned the hug.  
  
"Of course it is I, foolish Took," said Merry, laughing through his tears. "Who else would it be?"  
  
"Oh, Merry, it is you," Pippin replied and tightened his embrace.  
  
Merry shifted so that he was sitting next to Pippin near the head of the pallet. "Easy, Pip. You will hurt yourself."  
  
Pippin snorted into Merry's shirt. "I am already hurt."  
  
"Well, you will hurt yourself further then." Despite his words, Merry made no move to disentangle himself. Rather he reveled in the touch of Pippin's arms around him and the sound of his voice. Though to be sure, both were quivering at the moment.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked gently. "You are trembling."  
  
Pippin nodded. "Don't worry about me. My emotions are all in a jumble right now. I've been dreadfully worried about you and Frodo and Sam. Are you sure you should be here?"  
  
Merry pushed him back a little to peer into his face. "And just what do you mean by that, Peregrin Took?"  
  
Pippin blushed slightly. "Your sword arm. When we marched out from Minas Tirith it was still troubling you. I was afraid the journey here would be too much."  
  
"I would have walked with both legs broken if I had to," Merry said. "As it was, I kept Gandalf company on the way from Ithilien when he would have had no one to talk to but Shadowfax."  
  
Pippin grinned and rested his head on Merry's shoulder while Merry put an arm around him. "I am very glad you're here then."  
  
Merry smiled as Pippin's eyes closed and his breathing evened out. "So am I."  
  
Then as he too drifted off to sleep, he heard movement in the room and Gandalf said, "No, leave him lest you disturb them both. He wants sleep, I daresay. He had precious little of it on the journey."  
  
Merry awoke with dampness on his shoulder. He looked over at Pippin, whose curls clung wetly to his brow. Merry gave a start of alarm and pressed a hand to Pippin's cheek. It was damp with perspiration but a normal temperature. The fever had broken.  
  
He sighed with relief but it was enough to make Pippin stir and yawn. "What hour is it, Merry?"  
  
His cousin looked at the shadows creeping into the tent. "Early evening, I suppose, but we are late for supper if that is what you are thinking."  
  
Pippin shook his head. "No, I was trying to judge how long we have slept." He sat up slowly as though in pain, and he winced and hugged his sword arm close. Merry watched him with concern.  
  
"Be careful, Pip. You'll re-injure yourself."  
  
Pippin looked exasperated. "I can hardly re-injure what is not yet healed, Master Brandybuck, and anyway, I am being careful. Stop worrying about me. You still have not gained full use of your arm either, or did you think I would not notice?"  
  
Merry was still irritable from his fright upon awakening and having his advice thrown back at him did not improve his temper. "My arm has been healing longer than yours, and I was not the one crushed by a cave troll."  
  
"I was not in the Black Sleep in Minas Tirith after smiting the Witch King," retorted Pippin. "I did not lay so close to death that it took all of Aragorn's skill to bring me back."  
  
Merry sprung up in anger. "No, you were the one who outright died! You don't know what it did to me, Pippin, hearing that you had been dead, even so briefly. You don't know how it wrung my heart to finally see you bruised and in pain."  
  
"You shouldn't worry about me!" Pippin finally shouted. "I'm recovering as quickly as I can, Merry; you needn't cast it up to me that I'm not in full health!"  
  
Merry stepped away, eyes widening. Obviously this was a sore point with his cousin. He judged it best to let the matter drop and give them both a chance to cool off. "All right, then," he said softly and left the tent.  
  
Pippin froze in horror. What had he done? That could not have been him hurling those hurtful words at Merry and driving him away. Fool of a Took indeed! *Silence* Gandalf had commanded just before the battle at the Black Gates. Why could he not learn that lesson? Why did he have to contribute to the evil so rampant in the world? Pippin let his head fall into his sore hands but did not weep.  
  
*****  
  
Gandalf was helping to break down one of the tents when Merry exited. The hobbit did not approach any of the fires over which simple stews were bubbling, nor did he seek out any company. Instead, he walked a little ways from the tent and sat with ankles crossed, staring at the setting sun.  
  
"Is that Merry?" Gimli asked, noticing Gandalf's glance.  
  
"It is."  
  
"What the blazes is he doing, sitting there alone?"  
  
Gandalf shook his head. "I know not but it cannot bode well." He and Gimli approached the hobbit but Aragorn, having noticed also and being closer, reached him first.  
  
"Merry," he said, and sat next to him.  
  
"Hullo, Strider," said Merry. "Or Aragorn, rather. I keep forgetting."  
  
"It matters not. Strider I was when we met. I do not mind the name from your lips though I would like it not coming from the other soldiers." Aragorn allowed some time to silence before broaching the question. "What troubles you, Merry?"  
  
"Oh, nothing much." Merry sighed and looked at the man next to him out of the corner of his eye. "We had a bit of a fight is all and I came out here to give us both time to regain our tempers."  
  
"A fight?" Aragorn asked, taken aback. He knew the hobbits had squabbles and disagreements but he had never seen them argue in earnest.  
  
"A little one," Merry hastened to assure him. "We had both just woken up and that is not the best time for either of us and I annoyed Pippin by reminding him to be careful as he is not fully healed. I didn't know he felt it so keenly or I might not have said it."  
  
"I did not know he felt it keenly either," said Aragorn.  
  
Merry looked at him in surprise. "Oh! Well, at any rate he snapped that I ought not worry about him and take care of myself instead and it built from there."  
  
"That is when you left?"  
  
Merry nodded. "It seemed for the best."  
  
Aragorn nodded too and laid a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "I think that is wise. I will go speak to him and see if I cannot clear this matter." He made to rise.  
  
"Tell him I am sorry for my part of it," Merry added. Aragorn nodded again and left him there. Gandalf and Gimli were waiting.  
  
"I will speak to Pippin," Gandalf said in a low voice, "and I will see if I cannot get to the bottom of this strangeness that has come over him."  
  
"I wish you luck," replied Aragorn.  
  
It was dark in the tent and Gandalf was obliged to ignite the tip of his staff for illumination. He found Pippin sitting with his bowed head in his hands. He was not aware of the wizard until Gandalf called his name. Then Pippin's head came up with a jerk. His face was pale and his eyes were like those of a hare when the hounds close in upon it.  
  
"I have gotten a surprising report about you, Peregrin Took," Gandalf began. The hobbit made no sound but his breath came quicker.  
  
"It is not like you to snap at Merry," Gandalf persisted.  
  
At last Pippin stirred. "No," he agreed.  
  
Gandalf sat on the edge of the pallet. "Do you know why you would say such things?" The hobbit made no answer and stared down at the coverlet. "Pippin?"  
  
"I don't know," he whispered. "I know he was only worried about me. But - I did not want him to worry about me when he is injured still. I will be fine even if I am not now."  
  
Gandalf eyes narrowed with thought and he knew they were approaching the nub of the problem. "There is no shame in admitting need, Pippin. You have been gravely wounded in your valiant deed. It is to be expected."  
  
"Well, I don't like it," Pippin said looking up, suddenly defiant.  
  
"But as you say, you will be fully recovered in the future. Surely you can tolerate such worry for a little while yet," Gandalf pointed out.  
  
Pippin looked down again and the wizard was left with the distinct feeling of having missed some vital point. Pippin had not referred to his injuries. "What is it, my lad?" Gandalf asked gently.  
  
Pippin shook his head. "It is nothing," he tried to say but the words stuck in his throat and he made a sound that was more breath than anything, part moan and part whimper. Gandalf heard and gently laid on hand over the hobbit's while his other hand brushed the unruly curls from his pale face, leaving the staff propped against the pallet. "Pippin, why do you suffer so, all alone? There is no need for it."  
  
A sigh he received in reply.  
  
"Will you not speak to me? Shall I send word for Merry to come?"  
  
Pippin gave his head an abrupt shake "no" and gritted his teeth against the tears pricking his eyes.  
  
Gandalf tried another course of action. "Pippin, you must say what is wrong. You will cause further harm to yourself the longer you go without treatment."  
  
Pippin clenched his eyes as tears welled up. He knew he was causing his friends grief with his behavior though that was the effect he had been striving to avert. Yet was not speaking out about the pain going to cause them grief as well? Was there no solution? He could not be more of a burden to them.  
  
"I cannot," he whispered.  
  
"You cannot what?" Gandalf prompted.  
  
"I cannot - burden my friends. I failed. I died." Pippin at last opened his eyes and stared into Gandalf's wise face. "I could not match the rest of the Fellowship and I died but I came back. Why am I alive when so many people, good people, died? I do not understand why such evil is in the world." He was no longer able to fight off the sobs. He struggled against the inevitable and against the searing humiliation of showing such weakness before a wizard, but he could not keep silent any longer.  
  
At last he went limp, spent from exhaustion, eyelids too heavy to part, cheeks burning from fever and shame. He was dimly aware of Gandalf giving him cooling sips of water and wiping his face with a damp cloth. From a far distance he heard Gandalf ask, "Now what is this about failing?"  
  
"I despaired at the Gates when you rejected the terms," Pippin answered, too tired and sleepy to care what he said. "I lost hope in the Quest and did not seek it. I sought death instead and I failed. I could not bear to live in a world with such evil in it and now I cannot bear to live with myself if all I do is add to it." Hot tears stung his eyes again. The last thing he remembered before darkness took him was the moisture on his cheeks and the kindly presence stroking his hair.  
  
*****  
  
Gandalf left the tent and found Merry waiting, half asleep, near the entrance. "Go in," he murmured to the hobbit. "I will see you shortly." He then went to the tent where Aragorn and Gimli waited.  
  
"He begins to understand," Gandalf said. "And in listening to him, I begin to understand as well."  
  
"If you have managed to make him speak, all the better but I fear it is I who do not understand," Aragorn said. "Old friend, the Valar may have sent you back in new form but you retain your habit of speaking in riddles."  
  
"I apologize for that but to explain I beg patience of you. I have told you of the lifestyle of hobbits, how they do not meddle in the affairs of the world outside of the Shire and thus are ignorant of much of it. Likewise they are also innocent of its many evils. This innocence protected the hobbits through the Quest. So long as they could not grasp what was happening, they were able to bear it. In Pippin, that innocence crumbles at last.  
  
"He despaired in battle. He believed Frodo and Sam to be dead, and at last understood the full magnitude of the Quest, what rested upon the destruction of the Ring. He battled the troll while in despair and died in the same state. In his delirium and confusion he believes he failed."  
  
"Failed what?" asked Gimli.  
  
Gandalf spoke gravely. "To continue the Quest, which at its heart is the battle against evil itself to champion all that is good in Middle Earth. But the obstacle to overcome now is this dark mood that blackens his outlook."  
  
"Merry," Gimli began but Gandalf cut him off with a wave of his hand.  
  
"Merry's presence will help but we cannot rely on him alone," he said sternly. He looked to Aragorn. "The night is clear?"  
  
Aragorn nodded, perplexed. "It is."  
  
"I saw something in the sky last night as we rode that surprised me, for I did not expect to see it this far south at this time of year," Gandalf said. "If it comes again I think I might put it to good use tonight."  
  
Gimli was prickling with impatient confusion. "Riddles again, Gandalf! Of what do you speak?"  
  
"Aragorn knows," replied Gandalf, unperturbed. "The name they give it in Rivendell is Ninniach Du."**  
  
The former ranger nodded slowly. "I have caught glimpses of it even here. It is a wondrous sight indeed.  
  
*****  
  
Merry waited a while before rejoining Pippin. The talk with Gandalf may have done some good or it may have made him even surlier. At last Merry went in and found, to his surprise, Pippin asleep with tear tracks on his face.  
  
"Pippin?" he called softly and lay down next to his cousin. He was unsure if Pippin heard him until he felt the warm body cuddle up to him.  
  
"Oh, Merry, I'm so sorry," Pippin whispered hoarsely.  
  
"It is I who should be sorry," Merry replied, embracing him. "I did not know it was such a sore spot with you, so to speak."  
  
Pippin buried his face in Merry's shirt. "It's not just the fight. It is everything. I do not know how I can go back to the way I was. Hope has died for me."  
  
Merry tightened his embrace, though still wary of the injured ribs. "You will find hope again. We have come through so much and still you kept your unquenchable cheerfulness. It has only dimmed. It will glow bright again." Merry looked up as Gandalf entered and stood silently. Pippin did not notice.  
  
"But I did not understand before," Pippin whispered. "My eyes are open, Merry. There is evil in the world, such terrible evil, it chills me to think of it."  
  
"The Enemy is destroyed, Pip," Merry said, stroking his cousin's curls gently. "His tower is fallen and the Ring is melted away."  
  
Pippin shook his head. "The origin of evil was not Sauron. He only gathered the darkness around him as a cloak. There are others willing to take his place. I thought I could bear it." He drew a shaky breath. "But sometimes it pressed down on me as fiercely as that troll did and I feel as though I will shatter into a thousand fragments."  
  
Merry helplessly cradled Pippin. He had not words with which he could combat this deep despair. He looked beseechingly toward Gandalf, who came forward.  
  
"You are right in part, Peregrin Took. There *is* much evil in the world and there is no use in imagining it away. There is no use, either, in dwelling overly much on it as you have done. Only in darkness can we fully appreciate the light."  
  
"There is no light for me, only endless night."  
  
"But even in the night there is hope of the dawn. Come, Pippin. And you as well, Master Brandybuck, if you can hold your tongue. There is something I wish you to see." Gandalf secured the blankets around Pippin and made to lift him up.  
  
"Gimli will have our heads if he learns Pippin has left his bed," Merry warned.  
  
"Then we will hurry so that Gimli does not find out," said Gandalf and brought them to a low hill outside the little camp so that they looked down upon it. The wizard scanned the stars quickly, nodded once, and then spoke. "Look around you, Peregrin. What do you see?"  
  
"Darkness," Pippin said flatly. "And in the shadows the graves of the newly dead. And some bodies not yet buried."  
  
"You see this only because you look down. Now," said Gandalf, "look up, both of you."  
  
Pippin obeyed. He heard Merry gasp and had little doubt as to why. At first only the great expanse of the sky met his sight, deep and dark and terrible. The very loneliness of it made him draw breath, but then he let it go in an exclamation of wonder and awe.  
  
The sky was alive with a thousand lights streaking and dancing over their heads, fading out and reappearing over and anon. The whiteness of them was cool and pure. Every now and then there would be a flash of pink or a glimmer of blue among the white, or a hint of greenish gold. The sky itself seemed to shimmer with the flashes as far as his eye could see and the blackness behind it only enhanced the show. Never in his life had Pippin seen such splendor. It seemed to him that the lights had a song to them and if he only knew the words, he might join them. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the night wash over his being, cleansing and pure as a mountain spring. Then there came a tune he recognized, and he understood the words  
  
"O Star-Queen, Star-Kindler white glittering slants down sparkling like jewels from firmament glory of the star-host! To remote distance after having gazed From treewoven middle-earth, Snow-white, to thee I will chant on this side of the ocean, here on this side of the ocean!"***  
  
"Oh, Gandalf," breathed Pippin. "Even the Elves would be hard pressed to match such beauty. What is this?"  
  
"Some say they are the Lights of the Valar. The elves call it Ninniach Du, the Rainbow of Night. They are most often seen in the cold of wintertime and in far more brilliance than what you see here. Even so, it is quite wonderful, is it not?"  
  
"Wonderful!" Pippin laughed, then laughed from the very joy of being able to laugh again. "Wonderful does not begin to describe it! I feel as though my heart would burst from it."  
  
"But wasn't this the night you so recently despised?" Gandalf pressed.  
  
The hobbits fell silent for a moment. The Merry spoke. "But if it were not night the sun would blind us to these paler lights."  
  
"Indeed, Master Merry, but that is only part of the lesson. Now tell me, Peregrin Took, do the Lights of the Valar lessen the reality of the graves of the fallen? Or do the graves dim the sky's beauty?"  
  
Pippin shook his head and spoke slowly. "No. They both exist together, not overpowering the other but not quite canceling each other out either." He looked into the wizard's face. "Is that what I am to learn, then?"  
  
Gandalf smiled gently. "There is evil in the world, Pippin. But you are for the Light. May this dimming of your spirits only serve to make you shine brighter in the years to come."  
  
Pippin tilted his face back to the sky. "I think I could learn to hope again. Somehow it does not seem so far away anymore."  
  
*************************************************************  
  
* From FOTR ("Many Meetings")  
  
** I don't know if the elves have a specific name for the aurora borealis so I cobbled together a name using "The Languages of Tolkien's Middle Earth" by Ruth S. Noel.  
  
***Translation of the poem from FOTR as given by Ruth S. Noel. 


	6. Day Six, March 30

Day Six, March 30  
  
Pippin awoke in the gray dawn. Merry slumbered next to him, forming a comfortable lump of warmth beneath the blankets. All around them the air was filled with clanking and creaking and a general busyness.  
  
"Merry," he whispered, "something's happening. Wake up." But Merry only sighed and rolled over in his sleep.  
  
"Merry," Pippin tried again but he abandoned his effort when someone entered the little tent. At first the light was behind him so Pippin could not see his face but as the figure neared the features became plain.  
  
"Hullo, Aragorn!" Pippin greeted him. "I suppose you've come to tell me what has got the camp in such an uproar. Before you do you ought to wake Merry to avoid telling the tale twice. I tried to wake him myself but the lazybones would have none of it."  
  
Aragorn smiled at this tirade and placed a hand on Pippin's brow. "The fever has left you, for which I am glad." He took Pippin's hands and gently moved the fingers and wrists, checking the healing, noticing the bruises were shrinking. "As for Merry, he was awake long into the night after sleep claimed you, or so Gimli tells me, and so he has been told already."  
  
Pippin frowned. "Why should he do that? And how would Gimli know he was awake?"  
  
"Merry wished to make certain all was well with you," said Aragorn. "And Gimli came in periodically to check on the both of you." The man's eyes crinkled with humor. "He has become quite possessive of you, Pippin. Merry would do well to look out for a usurper."  
  
"Gracious, not Gimli too!" exclaimed Pippin. "Between the two of them I shall be smothered with pillows."  
  
At this Aragorn laughed. "Indeed, if we were to remain among the Slag- hills I fear that might be your fate. As we are not, you need not fear such a demise." He released Pippin's hands and cautiously probed the sword arm. "Tell me if you feel pain."  
  
Pippin nodded, too excited by the sudden revelation to take much heed. "Then we are leaving! But to where?"  
  
"Ithilien, of course, with the rest of the wounded." He turned the elbow slowly and stopped when Pippin gave a sharp intake of breath. "That is not so bad. You have regained a considerably amount of movement, more so than I had hoped. Now the ankle."  
  
Aragorn began by slowly bending and rotating the ankle and found Pippin was unable to move it without wincing. "You must stay off your feet a few days yet. I will leave you to dress and wake Merry. There is breakfast outside when you are ready," he added, thinking to hurry the hobbits.  
  
"Dress?" Pippin asked. As far as he knew the only clothing he still owned was the tunic of the Citadel guards of Minas Tirith, in which he was clad.  
  
"Ah, here it is." Aragorn drew a slightly soiled bundle from beneath the bed. "Merry brought your effects from the White City. These will do until you may be garbed as properly befits one in the service of Gondor."  
  
Pippin's fingers eagerly sought the familiar weave of his elven cloak that Merry had used to wrap the bundle. One phrase struck him. "But I am no longer in the service of Gondor. I was dismissed by Denethor."  
  
"Denethor was steward only and your pledge was to Gondor, of which I am king." Aragorn spoke the last as though he was not yet sure of its truth. "I am loath to lose another of my people so soon after losing many others, so with your indulgence, I shall keep you on a little while yet."  
  
"Thank you," said Pippin though his tone faltered somewhat. "I will be honored to wear the sable and silver again but . . . how long . . . is 'a little while yet'?"  
  
Aragorn smiled, understanding what was unsaid. "Fear not. You shall journey to your beloved Shire unhampered by the world of Men."  
  
"And Merry?" Pippin asked eagerly.  
  
"That is not for me to say for it was to Rohan he pledged himself," replied Aragorn. "But there will be time enough for that later on. I have tarried too long here." He stopped before leaving. "And do not try to walk yet," he ordered, pointing a finger.  
  
Pippin undid the inelegant knot Merry had tied and spread out his old clothes on the coverlet. The white shirt and dark trousers, the jacket dyed a peculiar blue-green from a secret blend of wode known only to a small branch of Tooks, the scarf of gray, brown, and rust that was quite old but dearly loved. Pinned to it was his green leaf brooch veined with silver. It was this article that caused him to sniff for he had not forgotten how the brooch had helped guide the three trackers, nor the punishment he had received from the orcs afterwards.  
  
He rallied quickly and managed to don his shirt and trousers without straining his arm, ankle or ribs too badly. The braces (i "suspenders" to my fellow Americans i) proved to too much of a challenge for his aching ribs and stiff arm. In his efforts he accidentally jostled Merry who blinked like an owl at him.  
  
"Is there an anthill in the bed or are you taking a fit?" he demanded, his curls going every whichway.  
  
"Neither," Pippin replied. "It seems that I am no longer able to dress myself," and he flung down the offender article of clothing in disgust.  
  
Merry gathered them up and looked at his cousin curiously. In his Shire clothing Pippin looked more like his old self despite the changes. "The Ents have much to answer for in giving us those draughts," he commented and pointed at the cuffs of their shirts, which no longer covered their wrists.  
  
"Indeed," answered Pippin and gestured to his trouser legs, now absurdly short. "Unfortunately I have both grown and shrunk." He pulled at his waistband to illustrate and gave Merry a pointed look.  
  
Merry laughed. "Turn around then." Pippin obeyed as best he could and Merry, sword hand fumbling a bit, adjusted the straps so that Pippin could grab them and attach them in front.  
  
"Aragorn was here," Pippin commented. "He said we might have time for some breakfast before we leave for Ithilien."  
  
"Ah, so we are leaving today," Merry said and burrowed out from under the blanket. His clothes were rumpled and his curls were likewise though he tried to smooth them down. He yawned prodigiously. "Breakfast, you said? Then why are you not outside yet?"  
  
Pippin folded his discarded tunic. "I have strict orders from Aragorn to stay off my feet until my ankle can bear the weight, and since it seems I am still in Gondor's service, I have no choice but to obey my lord."  
  
"And so it falls to me to see that you are fed," Merry finished with a shake of his head. "I sense a conspiracy between Aragorn and your ankle."  
  
Pippin grinned. "You must take it up with them, then, though I do not think you will have much luck with my ankle. It does what it wants with little regard for the desires of others."  
  
Merry clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, then I shall hunt up Aragorn and breakfast together." He hesitated a moment, to look once more at his young cousin, and went out into the morning.  
  
Strange, savory scents greeted him. Among them was the whiff of fresh bread, though it was not Rohan bread nor Gondor bread nor any other kind Merry recognized. Here and there small pots frothed over small fires, tended by weary men. Some of the wounded were sitting in the carts already, sipping from rough cups and bundled into blankets. Many of the tents were gone, folded into large squares and put away wherever they would fit. Some men carried staffs and packs and Merry understood they would be walking to Ithilien. Any horse that could be spared, with the exception of Shadowfax, was harnessed to pull a cart or loaded with supplies.  
  
"Good morning, Master Brandybuck!" a deep voice called. Merry turned and saw Gimli waving to him over a flat rock. As he neared, he saw that the rock was over a fire and it was covered with some steaming, golden brown substance.  
  
"You were able to sleep at some point?" Gimli asked as Merry yawned again.  
  
"Oh, yes," Merry assured him and looked at rock between them. "Is that the odd bread I've been smelling?"  
  
Gimli seemed to swell up beneath his armor. "It is indeed, young hobbit. It is *cram*, the traveler's bread of the dwarves, freshly made. It is, perhaps, not so dainty as *lembas* but it is good and filling and will certainly last until we reach Ithilien. Though some don't seem too credulous," he added, looking at the legion of men around him.  
  
Merry was quick to assure Gimli he would be happy to try the bread. Its taste was not sweet but was plain in a wholesome way. Gimli watched as Merry nodded his approval.  
  
"It is very good," Merry said once his mouth was no longer full. "May I take some back to Pippin?"  
  
No sooner were the words spoken than the dwarf piled several cakes for him on a piece of clean tree bark. "I have seen first hand how much feeding is needed to satisfy you hobbits," he said, eyes twinkling. "If this proves to be too little you are welcome to come back for more before we depart."  
  
With a smile and a bow Merry thanked him and set off to find drink. At another fire he found a pot of fragrant broth and gladly accepted two cups of it. Only then did he realize his dilemma: one good hand could not carry two mugs and a bark plate of *cram*. It was here that Aragorn found him.  
  
"That is a large meal for one so small," he teased gently.  
  
"It may be so, but it is a small meal for two large hobbits," Merry retorted good-naturedly. "And as you have imprisoned Pippin to his bed I had little choice but to seek out food for the both of us."  
  
"Ah, I was afraid you had been too quick for me and had returned to you cousin already," said Aragorn. He looked over the simple fare Merry had gathered. "Gimli's cram?" Merry nodded. "The broth and bread are good choices for one who recovers from internal bleeding." Aragorn knelt down so that he might look the hobbit in the eye. "I do not know how much you have been told about Pippin's injuries. Forgive me if I repeat what has already been told to you. The troll's weight was so great that it not only cracked his ribs but caused him to bleed inside. Several times he brought up blood. It has healed but his food must be plain, as unseasoned as possible, so as not to irritate his stomach further. Can I rely on you, soldier of the Mark, to hold firm to this prescription and not sway in the face of adversary?"  
  
Merry drew himself up proudly. "You may, my lord!"  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Now, having confided in you, you made confide in me. How does your arm improve?"  
  
Immediately the confident and positive air vanished like smoke in the wind. "It . . . improves," Merry stammered in a low voice. "It is still chill but not as cold as it used to be. And I can move it though it still feels odd, as my feet did when I had sat on them on the journey to Ithilien."  
  
"Push against my hand," Aragorn ordered, holding his hand straight. Merry did so, showing he had regained quite a bit of his old strength.  
  
"Good. Now, copy this." The man curled his fingers, one by one, towards his palm, and then extended them again. Merry did as he was bidden though it seemed he lacked control of the movements.  
  
Frowning, Aragorn took Merry's hand in his and squeezed one curled finger until the knuckled gave a small popping sound. "Can you feel this?"  
  
"Yes," Merry answered, still in a low voice, "but it should have hurt, shouldn't it?"  
  
Aragorn nodded slightly. "There should have been some discomfort but I am relieved you felt it at all."  
  
Merry raised haunted eyes to the king's face. "Will it ever recover, fully?"  
  
"I know not," he admitted. "But you Shirefolk are as tough as tree roots when the need arises. I will give you some athelas to put into water. Bathe you hand and arm in it nightly, and try to give them as much use as possible to bring back more strength and movement. Pippin too will have need of strengthening exercises; perhaps you may work together." Aragorn ran his fingers along the thin white scars on Merry's wrist, a reminder of the orcs and their filthy ropes. "These do not bother you?"  
  
Merry shrugged. "I would prefer them gone, since only lasses wear bracelets in the Shire, but they cause me no pain and they are not very noticeable."  
  
"Honest and practical," Aragorn said. "Very well. I shall accompany you back to your tent," here he picked up the two mugs of broth that no longer steamed, "and see that Pippin is brought safely to a cart for the wounded before you eat." He fixed Merry with a stern look. "Mind your promise, Meriadoc, to stay true to your cause. It is for Pippin's health that you deny him." Merry nodded, confidence restored, and picked up the cram to follow Aragorn.  
  
The tent was already gone when they arrived at the site. Merry looked around wildly until he spotted a small curly head sprouting over a veritable hill of blankets on a wagon nearby. "Oi, Merry!" the hill called. "I thought perhaps you had gotten lost."  
  
Merry laughed and trotted over as quickly as he dared. "Pippin, do not tell me you disobeyed orders and left bed under your own power?"  
  
"I should say not," replied Pippin with asperity. "What do you take me for, cousin? But as for why I am not in bed, the fault lies entirely with Gandalf. He brought me out to clear the tent, or some such thing, and so I am packed into the wagon like so much pipeweed. Is that bread?" he concluded with honest puzzlement, eyes fixed on the cram.  
  
"It is cram which, according to Gimli, is a type of journeybread," Merry replied and passed it to Pippin while he himself clambered into the cart to sit next to Pippin. "Pipeweed indeed! This is no supply cart, foolish Took. Having ridden in one myself I think I have reason to know." Aragorn chuckled and passed the cups to them and they both drank.  
  
Pippin accepted the cup but continued to look annoyed. "I know what cram is. I remember Bilbo's stories well enough to recognize the name if not the sight of it."  
  
"In any case, sup lightly," Aragorn warned. "The movement of the cart is jolting and irregular and may cause you to feel ill."  
  
Pippin nodded but quickly chose a piece of cram and nibbled it. "Will we be leaving soon?"  
  
Aragorn looked to the trickle of wounded being helped into carts. "Within an hour's time, I should think. You would do well to move to the back of the cart so as to allow others to climb in without crushing you in their ascent."  
  
The hobbits looked up and saw that there were indeed wounded headed their way. Pippin set down his cup and wiggled backwards, awkwardly, but with surprising speed, into a back corner. Merry chose a more dignified method and walked on his knees to settle next to his cousin. Among the wounded were familiar faces from both Gondor and Rohan, and soon the hobbits were chattering freely between sips and bites.  
  
A lurch surprised them into silence. It took them but a moment to realize the wagon chauks had been removed. A second lurch sent them swaying where they sat, and they were off. 


	7. Day Seven, April 1

*Sorry for the delay. My couple days' break got out of control and made it harder to pick up the storyline. But it's back on track now so let the journey continue.*  
  
Day Six, March 30, evening  
  
Aragorn and Gandalf had allowed a break at noontime to eat and rest. Many who rode chose to leave the cart to exercise their legs for they were sore from sitting so long over bumpy roads. Merry was among them, which gave Pippin enough room to stretch himself over the floor. Merry returned to find him sleeping lightly though he woke up quick enough at the mention of food. There was no time to build any cooking fires; they relied on *cram* to quell their hunger. Then, there had been joking and talking and a few songs to lift their spirits. The hobbits discovered one Rohirrim next to them who knew tales that rivaled those of Bilbo, which he told when he was not coughing harshly.  
  
Now, as the party creaked to a halt, there was a noted silence. The day's chatter had long since dwindled to occasional murmur even as the day's light faded. The occupants of the carts were too sore from the bouncing and jostling and their half-healed injuries to talk and those who went on foot were too exhausted and winded to say much either. It was not the pace, which was slow, nor the weight of supplies, which were few, but both combined with the dreary land of Mordor and the knowledge of the high price of their freedom.  
  
Gimli had kept his pace at that of the cart carrying the hobbits, positioning himself nearest the corner in which they sat so as to carrying on conversation. He was glad to drop his pack for the night - not that he was tired, of course, but it gave him a chance to check on the hobbits.  
  
Pippin rested his head against Merry's shoulder, his eyes closed and breathing even, while Merry's head rested on his cousin's. Gimli smiled at the sight and did not disturb them until the fires were built and the soups were warming. He brought two wooden bowls over to them and allowed the fragrant steam to do its work.  
  
Pippin was first to wake. His head popped up and he looked at Gimli with surprisingly bright eyes. "Is supper ready? Something smells wonderful."  
  
Gimli laughed. "It is indeed. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep through it and force me to eat your portion. You are fortunate you woke in time."  
  
Merry blinked crossly at having been so rudely awakened by Pippin's antics but his face brightened at the sight of the soup. He accepted his bowl with a grin. "Would you really steal food out of the mouths of valiant injured, Gimli?" he asked.  
  
The Rohirrim who told the splendid stories ceased his ragged coughing fit long enough to give Gimli a stern and expectant look.  
  
"Of course not!" the dwarf said stoutly. "Though I might make an exception for you two," he added quietly, leaning in confidentially.  
  
Pippin laughed and dedicated himself to the soup. "But we wouldn't have slept through supper even if you had allowed us," he said between spoonfuls. "No proper hobbit would, though we have slept quite a lot during the trip. I don't understand how it can be so tiring, just riding in a cart."  
  
"You would not prefer to walk it," Gimli said seriously. "And though you seem spry for now you will be feeling the bumps and bruises tomorrow."  
  
(Note: There is no March 31 in Shire Reckoning) Day Seven, April 1  
  
Pippin groaned and slowly stretched his limbs. Gimli's warning came back to him and he shook his aching head. It seemed to him that his body remembered every jostle from the road and was reminding him. His ribs and ankle throbbed dully but so did his nose and back, which was a new and unpleasant development. Pippin knew sleeping on hard wood and then hard ground was probably to blame. Even so, the tightness in his chest and head made it difficult to breath normally and doing so made him wonder if sleeping more would not help.  
  
"So, slug-a-bed, were you planning to sleep all day?" Merry asked from above.  
  
Pippin squinted up at him. "The thought had entered my mind to do so."  
  
"Then you will most certainly miss breakfast and there will be no second breakfast for you to catch up with either," replied Merry.  
  
Pippin smiled wanly. "Then I can catch up the missed meal at luncheon."  
  
Immediately Merry knelt beside him on the grass. "What's wrong? Peregrin Took never passes up a meal if he can help it." He looked carefully at Pippin's face. "Your nose is swollen a bit, along the cut."  
  
"Ah, so that is why it hurts," said Pippin. "I had wondered about that."  
  
Merry's eyes narrowed. "Where else are you hurt?"  
  
"Everywhere and nowhere, really," came the bewildering answer. "I am all sore and achy but I am not seriously hurt. You needn't fetch someone. There are many others who are worse off than I. Remembering the coughing soldier who sat next to us?"  
  
"I do," Merry said quietly. "He coughed blood from a bone that had pierced his lung. He rests now."  
  
"I am glad to hear it," said Pippin but something in Merry's face worried him. "Is that not good news?"  
  
"He died," Merry said bluntly. "His ribs had been broken as yours had and he was jostled about in the cart as you had and now he is dead. And he is not the only one we lost in the night. I won't let you join them. For pity's sake, Pippin, when will you learn that you must ask for aid sometimes?"  
  
Pippin glowered at him. "To ask for aid when none is needed is akin to complaining. I'd like to think I have left that behind me."  
  
"To not ask for aid when aid is needed is akin to foolishness, which you obviously have not left behind you," Merry retorted. Then his face softened. "Please, Pippin? It is only a precaution and if Strider - Aragorn - thinks it was unnecessary you may have my ration of *cram* to compensate."  
  
"How is your arm?" Pippin asked suddenly.  
  
Merry kept his voice neutral. "As I told Aragorn, it is cold still and the feeling is numb but it has improved some since he gave me some athelas to bathe with and showed me exercises to do."  
  
Pippin considered this and sighed shallowly. "All right then."  
  
Merry's brows shot upwards in surprise at the quick acquiescence but went off and returned shortly with Aragorn. He too was pleasantly surprised at the development but also concerned by the reports of pain.  
  
"So Merry has talked some sense into you?" he asked and set the hobbit on the edge of the wagon so as to gain a better vantage point for the examination.  
  
Pippin shrugged and winced at the movement. Aragorn noticed and went about gently manipulating limbs. "We put off binding your ribs too long," he murmured as he worked. "And I would like your arm put back into a sling. It will only be for a little while," he said as Pippin began to protest. "If these injuries are not kept still they are apt to worsen and you will be bedridden longer."  
  
"Very well," Pippin said reluctantly and subsided as he struggled out of his shirt. He made no more protests while the linen was wrapped about his chest and reapplied to his ankle but he shook off Merry and Aragorn's help to put his shirt back on.  
  
The man bit back words of caution that rose to his lips when Pippin grimaced with pain. He knew they would do no good in the face of such stubbornness. He merely waited until the hobbit was adequately clothed before tying the ends of the sling behind Pippin's neck, though Merry had no such hesitations and alternated between coaxes and scoldings.  
  
"Is that all then?" Pippin asked, his tone polite but he was clearly eager for the ministrations to end.  
  
Aragorn raised Pippin's chin and scanned his face. "Does this pain you also?" he asked and brushed the swollen bridge of his nose with a gentle touch.  
  
"Yes," Pippin said briefly, "and it is more difficult to breath. But it did not hurt until this morning."  
  
Aragorn began to lightly apply a salve to the area. "When you were brought from the battlefield I thought perhaps some nasal bones had been cracked but I could not be sure. I think the ride here may have shifted something. There is not much than can be done."  
  
Upon seeing the hobbits' eyes widen, he hastened to add, "Even if this is the case it should heal well, provided no further injuries occur. When the swelling goes down I suspect your breathing will become easier and the pain will lessen as well. And fear not -- it will not damage your looks," Aragorn said with a smile. "There will be a scar but it will lighten with time."  
  
Merry rolled his eyes. Pippin returned the smile and bowed his head. "That is a great relief," he said. "It would not do to return to the Shire and be shunned as a scar-ridden monster."  
  
"There is no danger of that," said Aragorn. "The only thing you need fear is that you will be shunned as a young giant."  
  
Pippin laughed but hissed in pain and gripped his ribs. Aragorn's face darkened, causing Merry to look at them both with concern. "Wait here," the man ordered and swung Merry up to sit next to his cousin. They watched Aragorn disappear into the throngs.  
  
Merry glanced sideways at Pippin, who returned the look. "I suppose I'll have to forego the extra *cram*," he said at last.  
  
Merry snorted, half amused and half exasperated. "That is the least of your worries, Pip. Aren't you glad now that I pressed my case?"  
  
"Yes, Merry," Pippin replied dutifully.  
  
Aragorn returned and pressed a steaming mug into Pippin's hands. "This is a tea that will dull the pain. It may also cause you to become sleepy but you will awaken feeling better."  
  
Pippin took a drink and grimaced. "It is hot," he said but continued with small sips. Soon his head began to fall forward but he sat up with a jerk, blinking hard. "You did not say it was so potent," he murmured thickly.  
  
Aragorn folded one of the blankets and guided Pippin onto it. "Sleep, little one." He brushed a hand through the brown curls. "Find a pleasant land of dreams. Sleep long and deep." He whispered a few words in Elvish and Pippin relaxed into slumber.  
  
Merry watched the scene. "He will be all right?"  
  
Aragorn nodded reassuringly. "Do not worry, Merry. He will fine."  
  
*****  
  
Pippin did not wake in the morning, nor in the afternoon. Merry was concerned but Pippin looked peaceful enough, his breathing even and heartbeat strong with no trace of fever or pain. As the company made camp for yet another evening, however, Merry could take no more.  
  
"Pippin, wake up!" he whispered fiercely and shook his cousin's uninjured arm. There was no response. Merry clenched his teeth and tried again. Again, there was no response. He looked about him wildly, looking for someone to help, and saw a flash of white robes and long white hair.  
  
"Gandalf!" he cried. The wizard turned, spotted the hobbit, and neared. But before he could say a word, Merry loosed a torrent of babbling.  
  
"Gandalf, Aragorn gave Pippin a tea to ease his pain and it put him to sleep and I thought nothing of it but he's been sleeping all day and I can't wake him and - " Merry choked but continued, "and I think something's wrong!"  
  
Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. "You were not told? How very careless of Aragorn."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Aragorn thought it best to keep Pippin asleep until we reach Ithilien. The bumps in the road do not affect a relaxed body as severely, and we are running short on herbs to treat pain."  
  
"But surely the potion would have worn off by now!" exclaimed Merry.  
  
"But it was not the potion alone," Gandalf said patiently, "but the healing sleep brought on by the hands of the king. It is the same slumber Frodo and Sam are in this very moment. Stop worrying, Merry. All is well with Pippin."  
  
The wizard passed on, leaving Merry only somewhat reassured. It was all very well for Gandalf to take this lightly but how could he be sure? Merry looked down at Pippin sleeping peacefully and prayed that the wizard was right. 


	8. Day Eight, April 2

Day Eight, April 2:  
  
Midmorning  
  
"Then you knew about it too!" Merry exclaimed in annoyance. The bumps in the road that the cart took did not cause his gaze to waver though his grip on the splintery side of the cart lessened.  
  
Gimli looked somewhat sheepish at the accusation and was overly long in adjusting his pack. At last he met the hobbit's eye. "We are very sorry, Merry. Nobody knew you hadn't been told. We all thought the other one had said something to you. There was no conspiracy to worry you further."  
  
Merry sighed wearily. "I know. It only gave me a scare is all."  
  
"Pippin will be fine," Gimli said and then tried to look past Merry. "How is he now?"  
  
"Fine," replied Merry mischievously. "Sleeping soundly as before."  
  
"Take good care of him," warned Gimli, fixing him with a stern eye. "If anything were to happen while you are not watching I fear I shall have to bring out my axe."  
  
"Then you would have to wait in line behind my aunt and uncle and Pippin's sisters and my parents and some five scores of relatives including Frodo," Merry answered. "There would not be much left of me for your axe to deal with."  
  
"But I would wait in line nevertheless," Gimli laughed. Then he grew sober. "So the young terror is a favorite in your Shire?"  
  
Merry cautiously folded his arms on the cart's side. "Yes. Well, among relatives at any rate but that is almost the same thing. So many family names have been linked together that nearly everyone is related to everyone else. Even with blood ties, though, I do not think some would welcome us with open arms. We have made too much mischief to be welcomed everywhere." A faint grin played on his lips as he recalled the many misadventures they had had in the past.  
  
"Indeed?" the dwarf replied, seeing a way to distract Merry. "So am I to understand you are as much to blame as he?"  
  
It worked. "Indeed," said Merry, warming to his topic with a smile. "We were quite a terrible duo. There was the time we convinced our cousin Roderic that conkers were hedgehog eggs, and the time we snuck off to Bag End without telling anyone, and the time when we borrowed my father's skiff and went down the Brandywine." Merry grew pensive at the memory. "But that one backfired, I'm afraid."  
  
"Tell me about it," Gimli said.  
  
Merry drew a breath. "Well, it happened almost ten years ago to the day . . ."  
  
************************************************  
  
i"But Merry, you promised you would teach me how to row a skiff," Pippin pleaded. "I've been waiting for ages!"  
  
Merry shook off the insistent hand on his sleeve and concentrated on sorting seed potatoes from eating potatoes. "Not with the spring tide. It isn't safe. Besides, we'll be caught for sure."  
  
"We wouldn't be gone very long," Pippin said, ignoring his share of the potatoes. "We could be there and back again before anyone found out."  
  
Merry shook his head, conscious of his coming of age in six years and the increased responsibilities that would come with it. "It's dangerous, Pip. The Brandywine at spring tide is nothing to fool around with if you aren't experienced with boats."  
  
"You are," Pippin pointed out. "And we're both excellent swimmers - you taught me yourself."  
  
"That's not the point," objected Merry. "When the spring tide swells the river even the best swimmer in the Shire doesn't stand a chance. Remember Frodo's parents? Cousin Primula grew up on the Brandywine and she and Cousin Drogo drowned."  
  
Pippin had heard the story, of course, but as it had happened a full year before he had been born, the argument had little weight with him. Besides, he knew the details as well as Merry. "But that was at night, after dinner when the ale and wine had flowed freely. This will be in broad daylight."  
  
Merry said nothing, only continued to sort the potatoes. Pippin pressed his case. "Didn't Uncle Scattergold say that if a hobbit learned to manage boats in rough conditions then he would have no trouble in calmer times? This would be the perfect time for me to learn."  
  
He saw his cousin work more slowly, considering the words. Merry had always respected his father's opinion when it came to the river. Pippin lightly placed a hand on Merry's arm and made his voice soft and pleading. "Please, Merry? You did promise."  
  
And that was how Merry found himself on the brown and green shores of the Brandywine in the light rain, showing Pippin the proper way to launch a skiff. "Stronger hand above the weaker and widen the space between them. You'll have more control and strength. Don't tilt it when you lift it - keep it upright."  
  
"But it's harder," Pippin argued. "The mud keeps trying to grab it out of my hands."  
  
Merry checked the loop of rope off the mooring post. "But it makes it harder to put the pole back down for the second stroke. Do it right way." Pippin sighed and poled back and forth a few more times, both with and against the current, until Merry was satisfied with his technique.  
  
"All right," he said. "We'll go downriver a little ways now, just to the sandy clearing on the bank."  
  
Pippin cheered immensely and skipped a bit. "And I get to pole the whole way?"  
  
It was within Merry's mind to refuse, to take the pole himself and teach Pippin by example. But several factors stayed his words. His father's opinion on learning in rough conditions was one, as was his knowledge that Pippin would only beg and plead until Merry gave in. More importantly, he honestly wanted to teach Pippin to handle a skiff. In recent years their ages had caused them to drift apart somewhat. They were still as close as ever but the brotherly times had grown fewer in number. Who knew how long it would be before another such opportunity came their way? And so Merry heard himself say, "Yes, Pippin, you get to pole the whole way. Stand here." Merry placed him near the corner on the river's side. "Keep us close to shore or you'll miss the clearing and the current will get us."  
  
"I know, Merry," replied Pippin patiently and stood with his feet separate for better balance, eager to be off.  
  
"And mind the extra rope. It wouldn't do to get your feet tangled in it," Merry added.  
  
"I know, Merry," Pippin said, less patiently. "Shall we be off now?"  
  
With a small sigh, Merry slipped the loop of rope off the mooring post and the current took the skiff. Pippin's poling was not such much for speed as it was for guiding the raft in a straight line. His movements were a bit awkward but Merry praised them for he was doing well for a beginner. Pippin beamed and concentrated on smoothing out the jerkiness. Soon the willow tree indicating the clearing came into view.  
  
"The clearing's up ahead," said Merry. "Start poling us to the left now."  
  
Pippin nodded and bit his lip in the effort to turn the skiff. Unfortunately, the current's speed had picked up and the water depth had increased.  
  
"Hurry, Pip," Merry urged in a low voice, seeing the clearing near with the skiff not nearly close enough to it.  
  
"I'm trying," Pippin answered, his voice tight with fear. He strained with the effort of pushing the skiff but he lacked the required strength and the skiff skimmed past the sandy bank.  
  
Pippin froze for a second, but came back to himself when the pole was nearly jerked out of his hands. The current was faster now, taking them downstream at a frightening pace. The water deepened further and Merry quickly realized the pole was sinking down too far for it to be of much good anymore.  
  
"Listen to me, Pippin," he said in as reassuring a tone as he could manage. "Stop poling and get the rope ready. There are some large rocks up ahead near the shore that we could use for moorings. When we get close enough throw the loop over it. It's tied pretty tight to the mooring screw so you don't need to mess with that. Just make sure to keep the slack out from underfoot."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Pippin quavered, holding the dripping pole above the skiff.  
  
"I'm going to guide us over to shore the only way I can," Merry replied softly. "Now get the rope ready and stand on the other side."  
  
Pippin obediently picked up the loop of rope and moved over but watching warily as Merry quickly stripped off his jacket and shirt. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Just be ready," Merry replied and slid into the ale-colored water.  
  
The coldness took his breath away and made him gasp. It felt as though a band of iron encircled his chest while a freezing fire attacked his feet and legs. He gripped the edge of the skiff and began kicking for dear life.  
  
Pippin watched him anxiously. "We're getting closer to shore," he called helpfully. "I think I see a rock I could tie us to."  
  
"How close?" Merry panted.  
  
"Just kick a bit harder and I think we'll make it."  
  
Merry gritted his chattering teeth and redoubled his efforts. It felt as though all his limbs had been turned to lead and his blood to ice. And if they missed the shore this time they might well be dragged right through the Old Forest.  
  
"Stop, Merry!" Pippin cried and jammed the loop down over the nearest rock. The rope grew taut as the current kept going relentlessly. There was an anxious moment, then the skiff lurched to a stop while the water streamed past.  
  
Pippin was thrown to knees but both the rock and rope held firm. Merry was not so lucky. The jerk had caught him unawares and his numb fingers loosened their grip. Immediately the current took hold of him and dragged him away.  
  
"Pip!" he gasped out.  
  
Pippin turned at the cry, saw Merry being borne away and did not think twice. He grabbed the slack, a goodly amount, and launched himself from the skiff. Being lighter, the current pulled him along more quickly and his dive had already given him added propulsion. He reached Merry just as he was nearing, quite literally, the end of the rope. Cold fingers latched on Merry's wrist and Merry reciprocated desperately.  
  
The slack jerked taut in Pippin's hand but he did not let go to either the lifeline or his cousin. "Can you grab the rope?" Pippin shouted over the roar of the golden brown river.  
  
"Not yet," Merry shouted back. He dug his fingers into the sodden wool of Pippin's jacket. "Take the rope in both hands until I can grip it."  
  
"I'm not letting go of you!"  
  
"I'll be fine so long as you don't lose your jacket," Merry replied. "Do it or we'll both be lost."  
  
Pippin gave him one despairing look and released Merry's wrist. Immediately Merry clung to Pippin's jacket with both hands and began moving his hands, inch by inch, to the sleeve. Slowly, painfully, Merry clung to Pippin's arm and dragged himself to the rope. His frozen fingers came in contact to the rough fibers and he said a quick prayer of thanks. "Hold on, Pippin. Let me get a bit father and then you can grab my ankle."  
  
Pippin shook his head until he realized Merry couldn't see him. "I'll just pull you down."  
  
Merry scowled but there was not time to argue. "Fine, then, we'll do it together. Move one of your hands between mine." It took a moment for Pippin to manage this but at last he accomplished it.  
  
"Now the other one. Above my top hand," Merry ordered.  
  
"Like how we decided captains for stick ball," Pippin said, understanding.  
  
Little by little they pulled themselves back to skiff in that manner, one hand at a time while the treacherous Brandywine rushed past them. At last Pippin gripped the edge of the skiff and with a boost from Merry, clambered onto it. Shivering in the March air, Pippin reached down and hauled his cousin up next to him.  
  
Merry struggled back into his clothes, fingers fumbling and shaking too hard to do up the buttons. At last he decided to pull the jacket around him and forget the fastenings. He sat, huddled in a miserable lump. "Well," he chattered, "that was a bit of an adventure."  
  
"Oh, Merry!" Pippin wailed suddenly and threw himself at his cousin. His arms went about Merry's shoulders and buried his face in his damp shirt. Merry held Pippin close, feeling the respective shivering of their bodies. It was hard to tell who was worse off, for even though Merry had been in the frigid water longer, Pippin did not have a dry stitch on him.  
  
"It's all right, Pip," he whispered, knowing the shivering was just as much from fright as it was from cold. He tightened his embrace and hoped the close contact would dispel the fear as well as some of the cold.  
  
"I was so scared," Pippin mumbled. "I thought we were going to die when we missed the shore. Or that you would drown when you jumped in the water."  
  
"Well, we are both alive," Merry said comfortingly. Then a thought struck him. "But what about when I saw you leap in after me? It certainly terrified me."  
  
"Oh!" Pippin pulled back, surprised and somewhat shamefaced. "I saw you in the water and I just . . . dove in. I didn't even have time to be frightened. But I'm sorry if I scared you. It wasn't intentional."  
  
Merry smiled gently. "No, I imagine not. I could shake you with a clear conscience for risking your life like that if not for the fact that I'm quite sure you saved my life. You were quite the brave little hero today."  
  
"Oh no, Merry!" Pippin exclaimed, blushing red with embarrassment. "It wasn't brave, not really. Foolishness, more likely. You would have made it to shore. If I had stopped to think I'm sure I would have realized that."  
  
Merry only smiled more and hugged Pippin again. He knew, even if Pippin refused to acknowledge it, that he would not have made it to shore under his own power. But there was no need to frighten him again by voicing that thought.  
  
"Come on then," said Merry gently. "Let's get the skiff back to the moorings before we're caught."/i  
  
************************************************  
  
"He's always been braver than he thinks," Merry concluded softly. "He just forgets sometimes and needs to be reminded."  
  
Gimli nodded in agreement walked on silently for a few minutes. "What happened afterwards?" he asked.  
  
"We pulled the skiff over the rocks," said Merry with a grin. "But we hadn't gone very far before my father caught me. Practical sort, my father. He helped us get the skiff back to the mooring, allowed us to dry off and warm up - then he took us to the woodshed and took a strap to us. We both came down with a slight chill afterwards and got scolded for it but I could tell our parents were proud of us for keeping our heads in an emergency."  
  
Gimli chuckled. "When they weren't giving the two of you the rough sides of their tongues, that is."  
  
Merry laughed too, then sighed. "Those were the days before we knew about the Ring and the Eye and all the legions of evil." He sounded wistful, pensive. Gimli was on the verge of saying something comforting. It was unnecessary as Merry suddenly shook himself and smiled again. "But it worked out for the best. Pippin hopped on a boat eagerly enough afterwards so he wasn't shaken up too badly. At least he learned caution. He'll never be a proper boats-hobbit but he's capable enough on the water." He met Gimli's eye. "Some day we must show off for you."  
  
"I look forward to it," Gimli replied.  
  
***** Evening, Ithilien  
  
The carts and weary walkers made their way through the camp, accepting food and drink from the healers and bedding down where they could. Merry, who had been dozing lightly, sat up and looked around at the place he had been just four days before. The evening breezes sang softly through the beeches and pines and the shadows grew long in the setting sun.  
  
A figure in white suddenly blocked out the view. "Stir yourself, Meriadoc. There is *cram* available if you are hungry, and then to bed with you. Tomorrow will be a busy day."  
  
"And where would bed be, Gandalf?" Merry asked, getting to his feet.  
  
The wizard easily caught up Pippin's sleeping form, securing the blankets more firmly around him. "Where else but with Frodo and Sam? I doubt you would be agreeable to anything else."  
  
Merry wanted to argue that point but, in good conscience, decided he could not. He satisfied himself with following Gandalf through the chaos of tents, fires, and bodies to the tent of the Ringbearers.  
  
Aragorn was there, relieving Legolas of his long watch. The elf gave Merry a smile as he passed but it was obvious even Legolas was exhausted. Gandalf set Pippin down on one of two pallets Merry couldn't recall being there before and joined the former Ranger between Frodo and Sam.  
  
Hesitantly Merry approached and was somewhat cheered to see improvement. The sores were healing and the deadly paleness had given way to a light pink. The skin no longer stretched so painfully over bones though both were still terribly thin. That would be easy to fix, Merry reflected. Frodo's missing finger, though, was still a shock and nothing in Middle Earth could be done about that.  
  
Absently he nibbled on a cake of *cram*, enjoying the nutty crunch of it, for it had hardened and dried over time in a pleasant way. Gimli assured him all was as it should be and put Merry in mind of grapes and raisins.  
  
Then Aragorn crossed the room to Pippin and, laying a hand on his brow, whispered words Merry could not hear. When he had finished, he turned to Merry. "I must beg your forgiveness, I am afraid. I thought you were aware of what I was doing, having been in the House of Healing. I assure you, Merry, I truly am sorry for the worry I have caused you."  
  
Merry nodded shortly, accepting the apology but still a little put out. "He will wake?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning, more than likely, but as well rested as I promised," said Aragorn. "Frodo and Sam are in a similar sleep but there they must remain for a few days yet."  
  
Merry started to speak but ended up yawning. "I do not think such a sleep is necessary for me, but I should like a place to rest all the same," he hinted without malice.  
  
"There is a pallet for you here," Gandalf said. And as Merry lay down, Gandalf drew the coverlet over him. "Sleep well, Meriadoc." 


	9. Day Nine, April 3

Day Nine, April 3:  
  
A soft yellow light hit Pippin in the face and he turned his head away. Light of any kind would wake him from the half-dreaming state he was in, and he was not willing to leave it just yet. He squirmed under the blankets, seeking further warmth from Merry, and was somewhat disappointed when he found he was alone. A deep breath, that was not quite a sigh, escaped him. He knew the scent of this place. It was tantalizingly familiar but he could not recall it. There was a decided lack of movement about him so clearly they were no longer on the road.  
  
Curiosity drove him to open his eyes slightly. He was in a tent of some sort, on a pallet with a real mattress, albeit a lumpy one, with the flaps open to permit the gently perfumed breeze to enter. There were long shadows from the soft light, indicating the time was either early morning or late evening. But somehow, the feeling was of a day beginning and not of a day ending. This puzzled him as it had been late in the morning when Aragorn had bound his injuries and pressed on his the sleep-inducing drink.  
  
"Well, I give up," Pippin muttered to himself. "I haven't the faintest idea where or when I am."  
  
"You are in Ithilien, Master Took, at roughly half past seven o'clock on the morning of April third, by Shire reckoning," Gandalf replied, causing Pippin to look up in surprise. It was indeed Gandalf, smoking his pipe and looking quite composed in the morning light.  
  
"Good heavens, Gandalf, how you startled me!" Pippin sat up slowly, and was pleased to note the pain from his injuries was greatly reduced. "But wait. April the third you said?" His brow furrowed. "That does not add up rightly. The Ring was destroyed on March the twenty-fifth, was it not?" Gandalf confirmed that it was so. "And I have been awake for three days and Aragorn gave me the draught midmorning on the fourth day. By rights it should not be April yet, even if I did sleep away the fourth day."  
  
Even as Gandalf opened his mouth to respond, Pippin stiffened with a sudden realization. "But we were more than a day's journey from Ithilien the last time I was awake. So tell me, Gandalf, what sort of magic did Aragorn put over me to make me lose five days?" he concluded, folding his arms though hampered by the sling.  
  
Gandalf managed to look exasperated and amused without losing much of his placid countenance. "To begin with, you have only lost a day and a half since we began the journey to Ithilien. The journey would have brought you more pain and discomfort, and the treatments were in short supply. It was simpler and kinder to have you insensible to what was happening."  
  
"But the draught . . ."  
  
"It was not the draught alone but a healing sleep from the hands of the king," Gandalf said curtly. "They may wake those in a dark sleep or put into sleep those in need of curing."  
  
Reluctantly Pippin acknowledged the wisdom of this, for he did indeed feel much improved from when he had awoken two days ago. "But what of the other days I cannot recall?"  
  
"The final battle was on the twenty-fifth of March," said Gandalf, more gently, "and you were found beneath the troll that evening. But it was not until the twenty-eighth that you awakened."  
  
"Oh," said Pippin and his voice was small. He had not been told of the events subsequent to his rescue, nor had he asked before. A thought occurred to him that he knew very little of what had happened. "It was Gimli who found me?"  
  
"It was indeed Gimli, aided by Legolas," Gandalf confirmed and puffed gently on his pipe while he waited for the hobbit to come to the point.  
  
"And when they found me, I . . . " Pippin faltered. He worried his lower lip with his teeth and finally plucked up enough courage to go on. "I was . . . not . . . living. I-I remember the last moments and Aragorn told me it was so. But he never said how . . ."  
  
Gandalf laid aside his pipe and gave him a kindly look. "You have to thank the combined efforts of Gimli and Legolas, elven knowledge in revival, and the virtues of athelas. And, of course, your heritage from the Old Took and the Bullroarer."  
  
This brought a slight smile to Pippin's face, as Gandalf had planned. "I have not yet thanked them," Pippin replied softly. "Gimli and Legolas, that is. I meant to but somehow it kept slipping my mind."  
  
Gandalf returned to his pipe and blew a leisurely ring of smoke into the morning air. "You shall have your chance shortly. Legolas is resting but will be by later and Gimli is nearby, tending Frodo and Sam." He nodded to a cloth hung up to partition the tent in twain. "We were forced to hide them from view to provide them a little privacy, so many would come to look upon the Ringbearers."  
  
"The Ringbearers?" Pippin asked confounded. "I thought Frodo was the only one. How did Sam come by it?" He caught his breath in sudden fright. "What happened to Frodo?"  
  
"A great deal has happened to them," Gandalf replied, "but they are recovering quickly and will be up and about within a week. Much the same time you will be allowed up and about," he added with such firmness Pippin knew there would be little benefit to arguing. Instead, he turned his attention to breakfast, or rather a lack thereof.  
  
"If I have been asleep so very long, I have missed a good many meals," he began.  
  
"Indeed you have," Gandalf agreed, "and though hobbits are rare this far east Merry has done well to acclimate the cooks to your needs." He gestured to a plate of fresh bread and fruit nearby, to which Pippin eagerly claimed.  
  
"Where is Merry?" he asked between bites.  
  
Gandalf exhaled a second smoke ring. "Outside, fulfilling his duties to Eomer, king of Rohan. Merry is still pledged to him, you understand."  
  
Pippin nodded, eager to be up and out of bed. "May I join him then?"  
  
At that, Gandalf laid aside his pipe and manipulated the still-bandaged ankle slowly. Pippin gasped and winced a short time into the examination. This brought upon him a sharp look from the wizard and a gentle but firm denial of his request. Gandalf was prepared to deal with a cross hobbit, which indeed might have come to pass, when Merry entered with two persons Pippin recognized immediately: Beregond and Bergil of Gondor. Beregond carried his arm in a sling as well and there was a long red line crossing Bergil's face that had not been there before but they seemed hale enough otherwise.  
  
Pippin quickly introduced them to Merry, and inquired as to their welfare.  
  
"We are both well, thank you," Beregond replied. "I am in your debt, Ernil i Pheriannath, for saving my life at the Gates," and he bowed his head briefly.  
  
Bergil followed suit, adding, "I suppose I must apologize now our first meeting. It would not be right to stand my father's rescuer and a fellow man of Gondor on his head."  
  
Pippin laughed through his embarrassment at the praise. "So you are a recognized soldier of the White City as well, Bergil? Is that how you came by that scar?"  
  
"Indeed. It came to me during the siege," Bergil replied, and ran his fingers along the red seem with more pride than shame as boys are wont to do. "It is a mark of valor and bravery, my father says."  
  
"By how did you come by it?" Pippin inquired and thus stories of combat flew fast and thick, from not only the soldiers of Gondor but also from Gimli, who had joined them, and from Merry and Gandalf.  
  
At length Beregond noted the position of the sun. "The morn is nearly gone. We have tarried overly long but I think no company would have been better enjoyed," he said. "Even so, I regret that we must depart though we will be certain to return." With words of farewell, he and Bergil took their leave.  
  
Luncheon came and went, through which Pippin grumbled a little bit but good- naturedly over the spare rations he was allotted. It was understood by all, himself included, the plain food was to inhibit further harm after the internal bleeding. It was more from a desire to be somewhere other than bed that motivated Pippin's petulance.  
  
Understanding this, Merry showed Pippin the exercises Aragorn taught him, lacing the fingers of their weakened arms and cautiously pushing against one another for resistance. They worked on this for a little while until the exercises built into a competition that Legolas broke up.  
  
Legolas had taken over Gandalf's shift sometime in the afternoon and, having missed Gandalf's stipulation not to worry Pippin about Frodo and Sam, warned the restless hobbits that their noise would disturb the Ringbearers. Immediately Pippin came to attention, pleading to see them.  
  
Legolas realized his mistake. "They are asleep now and would not be aware of your presence, Pippin. Furthermore, you know you are not allowed out of bed. You must give them and yourself more time."  
  
"I have given and been give time, Legolas," Pippin answered quietly. "I am through waiting. They must have undergone terrible struggles as we all have. Are they so changed that you fear to let me look upon them?"  
  
Legolas hesitated and Pippin's face grew anxious. "No one has told me anything, Legolas," he pleaded. "Please. It is torturous to be left to my imaginings."  
  
"They are quite changed, Pip" Merry said. "They have lost much weight and bear the signs of toil in infinite ways but deep down they are the same old Frodo and Sam."  
  
"Descriptions are all very well and good but I will not *know* until I can look at them with my own eyes," replied Pippin. His eyes softened, doe- like. "I have not seen them in over a month and that is hard on cousins. Please, Legolas?"  
  
Without Gandalf with him to remain impregnable in the face of such tactics, the elf prince found himself weakening. "Say nothing of this to anyone," he muttered as he picked up Pippin and furtively covered him with a blanket. "Not Aragorn, not Gandalf, not Gimli – no one."  
  
"I promise," the incorrigible hobbit replied, too happy to have won the argument to mind.  
  
"Just know that they are changed," Merry concluded, "and not all changes are for the best sometimes."  
  
"I know they have undergone hardships," Pippin replied. "I will be all right. Some changes are for the better." Merry sighed and hoped his younger cousin was prepared for what lay ahead. His fears were confirmed as Legolas set Pippin on a stool and allowed him view of the two hobbits on the cots.  
  
The determination in Pippin's face drained away and was replaced with sorrow and shock. To Merry, having seen them shortly after their rescue, the sight was cheering but Pippin had not looked upon them since they passed the Pillars of the Kings. Very hesitantly he reached out a hand and touched Sam's thin shoulder, then caressed Frodo's bandaged hand. He frowned at it a minute, confused, and suddenly realized what was different. He squeezed shut his eyes and when he opened them again, his face was very still and his eyes were filled with an unrelenting pity and sadness.  
  
"They have healed much and are still healing yet," Legolas assured him softly.  
  
"How much more worse off could they have been?" whispered Pippin hoarsely.  
  
Merry began to give some words of comfort but Pippin abruptly shook himself and made a feeble attempt at his old cheerfulness. "But they will recover soon, won't they? Several good meals and they will be back to their old selves?"  
  
"Certainly," Legolas said but met Merry's eyes over Pippin's head. Neither said, though they both knew, some changes are irreversible. *****  
  
Late night  
  
Pippin sat bolt upright with his heart pounding hard and his breath coming in fast gasps, snapped out of a sound sleep. His eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dim light. Fine tremors coursed through his body while he adjusted to the waking world.  
  
Legolas took note of this and crouched by the pallet. "What has disturbed you?"  
  
Pippin could not answer at first for the terror still had him in its grip. He took several breaths, as deep as he could manage, staring into the ageless eyes of the elf. At last he was calm enough to speak, though it was scarce above a whisper. "I held the Seeing Stone again. It swirled red, as it had before, but this time it showed me Frodo and Sam tortured by orcs and minions of darkness, surrounded by the fires of Mount Doom. They screamed in agony and I cried out too and the orcs laughed, Legolas. They laughed at our pain. It was the most horrible thing." Pippin ended nearly in tears and clutched at the fabric of Merry's sleeve.  
  
Legolas smiled gently and smoothed back the sleep-tangled curls. "You have such a great heart, Peregrin, that the hurts of your loved ones hurt you nearly as much as they. But while their bodies are easily healed, it takes longer for your worries to be dispelled. Just as Merry's fears for you trouble him more than his injured sword arm. It is true that Frodo and Sam were in grievous conditions but they are on the mend now."  
  
Pippin sighed. "I understand that with my head but I cannot seem to grasp it with my heart."  
  
"Then perhaps you should allow your head to guide your heart this time," said Legolas. "Close your eyes and put yourself back to that terrible dream place. See Frodo and Sam, and hear the Enemy's voice. Now – command the voice to cease. See the orcs stop in surprise. Behold the dawning hope in the eyes of your friends. Raise the stone and smash it in front of you and watch it shatter into shards of light. And when the dazzling light clears you will see Frodo and Sam in front of you, whole and unharmed. But Pippin, you may repeat these images as many times as you need until the dream loses its hold of terror of you and sleep becomes sweet for you again."  
  
Legolas watched the hobbit's face reflect his imaginings through fear, determination, and triumph. The cycle seemed to start over, though at a lesser magnitude, and after some time Pippin became peacefully still and curled up next to Merry. 


End file.
